Children of Time and Space
by Kamikashi
Summary: Why is the Doctor insisting that all his people are gone? And what will he do when he finds out that he's wrong? Retells the new series from "42" onwards. 10/Martha. 10/OC family. Co-written with Spiderninja16.
1. Zero: The Law of Gallifrey

**********If I was the show runner, this story would be canon. But I am not, so I publish fan fiction. **

**And now. THE Disclaimer. So I don't have to pin it on every fucking chapter.  
**

**Doctor Who and its accoutrements are the property of the British Broadcasting Cooperation (BBC). All publicly recognizable characters belong to the BBC and/or their respective creators. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment, not monetary purposes, and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended, and no profit is made from it. Previously unrecognised characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author unless explicitly stated.**

**Chapter quotes are by Marcus Tullius Cicero and Publius Ovidius Naso (Ovid), and thus in the Public Domain. **

**Open Your Eyes is by the Guano Apes; Absolutely (Story of a girl) by Nine Days.**

**The Antarians and the High Office of the Valeyards © Kamikashi.**

**Children of Time And Space © Kamikashi, Spiderninja16 2012-13**

**Ear of Chronos © Kamikashi**

**Characters: 10th Doctor, Martha Jones, Donna Noble, Jenny (Doctor's Daughter), Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, OCs  
Pairings: 10/Martha, Jack/Ianto/OC**  
**Synopsis: Why is the Doctor insisting that all his people are gone? And what will he do when he finds out that he's wrong? **  
**Warnings: AU, Original Characters. This story is built deliberately on speculation on certain plot holes.**

* * *

**AN: I'm new to the Whoniverse, so bear with me; the phrase House of Gallifrey is more in the sense of a noble and ancient family, like on Earth, with some telepathic extras, like a psychic link to the land, and the fact that the family has brought forth Chronarchs. So, I have no idea of the books, all I am using is a wiki, the Collection of (new) Series 1-4 and my geek of a bf (Hail Spiderninja16). (Trope:TvTropesWillRuinYourLife/WikisWillRuinYourL ife)**  
**The word **_**taruelai**_** comes from Otter Child's 10 & Jenny (Doctor's daughter) series.**

* * *

**Prologue: The Law of Gallifrey**

"_Nihil agere et plane cessare delectat." (Doing nothing and being idle pleases too.) _– M. Tullius Cicero

After the disaster with the living sun – he couldn't quite remember how long it had been since he'd been that scared – the Doctor launched his TARDIS into the time vortex, intending to let them just hang out for a while… and get a few hours of sleep, instead of just going ice-skating. _Martha wouldn't let me hear the end of it if I don't take time off, and for once, I agree_. He sighed. _She's strong. So much like another woman I knew once_… Leaving the console room, he slumped back to his own room, shaking the tempting thoughts out of his head. _What am I doing? Replacing Rose like that? I wonder though what **she**_ _would have thought_…

Meanwhile, the TARDIS snorted at her pilot's tired musings, knowing who _she_ was. And knowing what she herself knew about the subject… Suddenly, a faint, immensely tangled timeline picked up her attention. It was not that of a normal being – too complicated, too involved in time and too active to be _lost_. Also, it had a familiar feel to it… Making a decision, she used her liberty of being free in the vortex, and followed the signature, sending her pilot flying to a meet-and-greet with the floor. _Sorry_. As she expected, the signature grew immediately stronger as she got near, being even more complex than her beloved Doctor's.

_What are you doing sexy?_ he groaned in his head, stumbling back to the console room. _I really, really need a break you know, and so does Martha_…

Letting the rotor column glow, she gave him the mental equivalent of a shrug. _It's important. Hold fast_.

A sleepy Martha stumbled out of the quarters, falling on top of the Doctor, who was face down on the grating currently. "What the hell is she doing?"

Pulling them to their feet and grabbing onto the console, he tried to stop the ship. "Controls are not working!" Giving up, he flopped into the captain's chair, bracing himself with his feet. "I don't have a clue where she's taking us, but it's rougher than being drawn to another reality!"

"Another reality? You've done that before?" she yelled over the rough ride, clinging to the console.

"Well, but then the power would be out…" A small explosion and a *thud*, and the TARDIS landed. Automatically reaching out, he helped his companion to her feet. "Which it is definitely not," he finished, checking the monitor. "So the only thing left is… an artificial alternate timeline. What's this?" Putting on his glasses, his eyes widened in disbelief, causing him to make a break for the doors. He didn't even bother with his coat, he just _ran_.

A wee bit slower, Martha followed him outside, where he was staring at a… neon magenta painted door covered with what appeared to be Circular Gallifreyan, complete with neon-green frame and a black lever door handle. "What the hell is that?"

"Something impossible," the Doctor replied after a while, throwing off his shock. "_She_ can't be here. Just _can't_," he whispered, his hearts hammering a wild, painful tattoo up his neck.

"Doctor?"

"It's a TARDIS. And if I am right…" He couldn't stop staring at this door, _this_ TARDIS, standing in a field of blue grass, somewhere on the other side of the Milky Way galaxy, and, according to his senses, some time around the year 1700 Common Era, in other words, before the Starting Point of the War… _She can't be here… can she?_

Suddenly, the door dematerialised with nothing but a soft _whoosh_; but before he could protest, it reappeared in the shape of a big black trapdoor, floating a good five metres over the ground. At the same time, an explosion shook the air, causing a screaming _someone_ to drop out of the purple sky… and straight through the black trapdoor, which was opened to the outside in just the right moment by a slender arm clad in black. With a mighty clack, it snapped closed, disappeared again, and, just half a minute later, it reappeared as the neon door from earlier. Finally, _finally_, the pilot came out, stumbling tiredly into the light of the planet's blue sun. "_5700 down and rescued…_"

_No way in the Nine Hells_… The figure was speaking New High Gallifreyan, the official, half-telepathic language of the Valeyards, and clad in a black pinstripe pant suit from head to toe, the feet stuck in a pair of black sonic boots. She was thin and _tall_, exceedingly so – a ridiculous and beautiful 6'1" which he remembered looking up to for centuries, and a voice which whispered the secrets of ages with which the woman had sung lullabies of thousands of worlds in the Lungbarrow nursery to him and the others of the House… _Janayitritariene Issharranue_…

"…899… no…" The woman dropped into High Court Queen's English without any effort, looking up at the whisper in the telepathic ether… and froze as she met the Doctor's eyes, stopping herself from flinging backwards into the blue grass. "898 to go…" she finished, as shocked as the Time Lord himself. "_Lah taruelaiene-larenessharranue_?"

Martha looked from her friend to the stranger, noticing a strange familiarity between them. Well, apart from the use of a TARDIS obviously… did that mean she was… like the Doctor? _A… what do you call a female Time Lord_? "Doctor?"

The appellations did it for him. Snapping out of his moment, he crossed the space between himself and practically _glomped_ the woman. "_Janayi, janayi, janayi_…" he cried, tears running down his cheeks.

Automatically, the woman hugged him back, not even bothering with the trouble of balance, one hand cradling his head while the other arm squeezed him to her chest. "_Ke, krre, lah taruelai…_ I'm here, child, I'm here." Shushing him, she sat them down in the grass, crying silent tears.

"I thought… I thought everyone…" he sobbed, half in Gallifreyan, half in English. "I set fire to the sky… no-one…"

"I was _working_ on the last day… Ended in the White Space…" She gently disentangled herself from him, holding him by the shoulders. "I thought you burnt with them when I felt the _land_ burn. Let me look at you…" Snorting, she gave him a teary smile. "Nine Regenerations and you finally look like what you are – your mother's son. Look at you, more handsome than ever."

The Doctor couldn't help it. He laughed. "You haven't changed one bit, _janayi_. And who knows, maybe I finally found my _perfect_ form…"

"Wouldn't it be nice… but where are your manners, _lah taruelai_… who is your friend?" she demanded, the manner switching to stern instantly.

Embarrassed, the Doctor pulled out a handkerchief, wiped off his tears and blew his nose, standing up. "_Janayitrita_, this is my Companion, Martha Jones. Martha, this… is my mother, _The Professor_."

* * *

Martha couldn't help but stare. Somewhere in her head, she had registered the strange language – all rolling consonants and lilting sounds – as the same the Doctor cursed in while doing repairs, in other words, his native Gallifreyan. But this woman, who seemed physically about as young as herself while her voice sounded like eons… with a presence as immense as the blue sun of this world, which emitted that aura of familiarity with the Doctor… was supposed to be his _mother_, a Time Lady, a voice in the back of her head supplied (she suspected it was one of the two TARDISes). Heck, she was pretty sure the phrase he used to address her was a little inappropriate actually, being too familiar. The shock had shaken her wide awake, and so she indulged in measuring up the tall woman. Same height as her son, same fair, lightly freckled skin, and the same wavy brown hair, which fell in a long ponytail down to her waist. The face had the same fine-boned cut, and there was something in the eyes which spoke of an eternity she couldn't dare fathom. "Your… mother? I thought they were all gone?"

"Well I only have one mother Martha," he smiled, a little overwhelmed. "And I thought so too… why didn't I sense you?"

She made a face, pointing at her head. "Valeyard. You couldn't sense me either when I was at work, could you? I thought after the Burning that there was no point in opening my mind." She waved her head at her TARDIS. "Come in, you two. I think this needs an explanation that is a little more comprehensive. Especially since your friend doesn't seem to know much about you." She rapped her knuckles against the neon door. "And change into something more convincing, will you? This is really too obvious, dear. At least, _paint it black_."

A soft rumble murmured in the air, transmitting something akin to a flash of embarrassment, and the door turned into a shiny black before opening into a TARDIS console room, which seemed to have a rather similar desktop theme to that of the Doctor's, with TARDIS coral columns supporting the ceiling. In fact, the major difference seemed to be the main console, which was not directly attached to the rotor column, but stood a little before it, sideways from the entrance, and thus was not built around the column. Instead, it was a step-in half-circle, clearly meant to be controlled by only one person, and, apart from a handbrake, seemed to be made of touch screens. Also, the rotor column's light wasn't green, but blue. Martha followed the two Gallifreyans into the space vessel. "Wow…"

"Type 23 Enforcer grade AT-TARDIS. Suited for Law Enforcement, Exploration and Experimentation. The AT stands for Alternate Timeline, I can create bubbles of flux time with it," the older woman explained, sighing.

"For what?"

"Repairing History," the Doctor added. "She's a Valeyard; that means literally Learned Prosecutor, Law Enforcement Officer. In other words, the Gallifreyan Time Police. They were the ones cleaning up when someone messed with time, and capturing them…" He smiled, the face filled with pride and admiration. "And _Janayitrita_ is the Lord High Valeyard."

The Professor shook her head. "Not important any longer, _taruelai_."

Martha looked at them. "So it was her job to clean up your messes Doctor?"

"No. Her orders came from the Council straight." He closed his eyes, turning away from the gun hanging from the ceiling. "What I do is apparently supposed to happen, otherwise she would have… disposed… of me long ago, as not to shame our _name_ with an official arrest warrant."

"People who abuse the power to travel in time and space to knowingly alter history, even bring down Reapers, or provoke the wrath of the Antarians, the Children of Space, those were my job," she sighed. "Most were preferably alive… but you don't send the High Valeyard after a _joy rider_ like my son. No. I was the one who got the _dead or alive_ warrants. People who were tried in absence." She picked up the gun and put it away. "Not something I like to think about."

"How often were you… sent out?" Martha wondered.

The Time Lady thought a moment, and sighed again. "Initially I was sent out a lot, a bloody beginner after all, but as the centuries went on, stagnancy took hold of the council and it got more and more Gallifreyans to think like them and… well… less and less even left our home world. And those who did _and_ messed with time usually warranted a whole Cleaner Squad and at least two Valeyards. It really depended on the generation. Sometimes, I would leave as often as twice a month, sometimes, I would drown in paperwork for decades. During the war, we were all working overtime. So many, so much… Ironically, that saved my life…"

The Doctor and Martha followed the (former) LEO into the depths of her TARDIS, ending in a lounge-esque library with a crystal theme. Flopping himself into one of the couches, he finally addressed what had both him and Martha stumped after finding her alive. Now that he could sense her, her extra defences down. "Why are you here? In this very place? And who fell out of the sky?"

Taking a deep breath, she fixated the duet, the hazel eyes glimmering like steel. The Doctor recognised the look as the one his mother used to go to work with. "Are you really sure that you and me are the Last Children of Gallifrey?"

"I've been all over time and space and you are the first I've met since…" His eyes widened, suddenly understanding. "The Eye… is gone. And you said it, on the last day of the War, everyone was _at work_."

"More than 2.000 Valeyard Prosecutors and Cleaners on duty. Stuck and lost in time, unable to come home since they all fly Type 70 and higher, which are dependant on the Eye of Harmony," the Professor finished. "Also, there is something you don't have." Pulling out a small electronic pad, she called up a list in Linear Gallifreyan. "As a Valeyard, I have access to this sweet little list – the Missings In Action, presumed dead. Do you have any idea how many Valeyards, Cleaners, Explorers and other scientists ventured into Time and Space in history, never to return?"

With shaking hands, he took the crystal plate out of his mother's hands. "Our people they're… they're still alive," he whispered in a low voice. "More than 20.000 … lost to Time?"

"And that's just in the course of my lifetime. Admittedly, that's still quite a bit of time, 15.637 years by now –"

"Wait-wait-wait a second. You're nearly 16.000 years old?" Martha cut in. "I know you're 902, but…"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Me being 902 years old, that's fine, but my mother being a little under 16.000, that's surprising?" He smirked. "Well, to be honest, 15.637 without regenerating is pushing it for anyone who's not a Child of Space or an Eternal but my mother is… special."

"Some Gallifreyans are born with an ability to reconstruct ourselves on the molecular scale, detox perfectly and no Hayflick limit due to having Telomerase in all cells. It's called Restoration," the woman explained. "I don't decay. I just fricking fail to age and die. I sometimes wonder though if the Council messed with your DNA, _taruelai_. Nine regenerations already and the Restoration inhibited. Luckily, the council is gone, so the Law doesn't apply any longer anyway."

"I do so too. Wait, it's a Law? Not a fact?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "Why did the Council dislike me, son, and why did they never say so? Why did they mess with any Time Lord who had inherited my Restoration since I was born?"

It clicked, slowly and painfully. "Because you are technically immortal, and that was considered… an anomaly, frowned upon. Since you are Lady Lungbarrow though, who can't be touched… and a rebel at hearts… they used you. Gave you the freedom you wanted… at a price, and that price was the obedience of a Valeyard, no questions asked."

"Bingo. I just hope you have nothing that disintegrates me; that would send me off for good I think. Had a few close calls which would have set off others to regenerate, so I don't know what would really force me to regenerate. I heal a little too fast," she explained. "Anyway, the 13 lives of a Gallifreyan are a law so we don't live indefinitely. Hunted down a few who broke the law myself. Trouble is, what do you do with someone who has never regenerated in her life before? Kill or use? They chose use, and so, I'm still here."

"So what is it that you do with this knowledge that there are still some out there?" Martha's mind was racing with the medical info she'd been given just now. _Immortality_. A real-life immortal.

"I… am trying to gather enough of us to rebuild our world. Minimum survival limit of about 6600 people, 50-50 sex congruency, preferably between 200 and 1500 years old," she sighed. "And _then _ask an Antarian World Maker to remake Gallifrey. But, as you have seen from the unwilling skydive of The Inquirer, it is tedious work, since I can't pinpoint the moment they would have died. I have to show up at least 48 hours early." She got to her feet. "Tea?" She didn't wait for their answer, just walked away to get said tea.

The Doctor leaned back, a somewhat shattered look on his face. "_Janayitritariene Issharranue_… Honoured-Beloved-Mother-hero-of-me-and-my-blood… She's really here… I'm not alone…" He hated losing his composure like this, but it was too much, silent tears running down his face.

Martha watched him curl up on himself. She couldn't help it; right now, he seemed more like a lost little boy, and so, she hugged him. "Hey… what is it she calls you all the time? Tarue–"

"_Taruelai_. Short for _taruelaiene-larenessharranue_," he whispered, the voice hoarse with emotion. "Taruelai is a concept word, meaning 'My offspring. My child. My blood. One I treasure and cherish. One I would die to defend.' _Taruelai-larenessharranue_ is a compound word in New High Gallifreyan, a language variant filled with psychic energy to carry more meaning. Altogether it means _All-beloved-son-and-dearest-child-of-mine-and-heir -of-my-blood_. Given that most Houses on Gallifrey were matrilineal, the latter says the most…" Reaching for his handkerchief again, he wiped off the fresh tears, hugging Martha back. He started to explain.  
"When I was born, my mother was already a legend on Gallifrey. I think there wasn't any child or adult who didn't have some form of hero worship or grudging respect towards her. Most didn't even know her title-name; they simply called her _The Law of Gallifrey_, since she'd been the High Valeyard for more than 14.000 years. More than that, she was practically the family's land." It was as if someone had broken a dam. Memories of a happy childhood bubbled to the surface, mixed with the early understanding that being Lungbarrow meant not only being of highest standing, but also being different, and having to live with and live up to it… the scorn, the jealousies of his peers, his abysmal grades due to the family's late-bloomer tendencies… the weight of being a Chronos user… and the warmth of Lungbarrow House, built into a cliff in high defiance for all to see… his father, his siblings… Sometimes he still wondered about his uncle, who was reported to be the greatest Healer Gallifrey had seen in the course of the Professor's lifetime, but he hadn't been born yet when the man died after a life of 7720 years, and the older half-brother he would never meet who died in a lab experiment with his father.  
And oh, how he missed it… the silver-leaved forests which glowed like fire in the suns along Cadonflood River and the red plain dividing them from their housing complex… the laughter in the halls when the guests were gone and his mother and cousins joked about the pathos of the others… the clan nursery where the loomed children were watched over by her, and the born of the main line were given the bedtime story in the form of a lullaby… "Son? _Taruelai_?" The Doctor's head snapped up, nearly knocking over the cup of tea his mother was holding under his nose. He sniffed, the eyes widening as he took in the flowery fragrance. "_Illawarra_?" he whispered, taking the cup almost reverently.

"An Antarian tea gardener lives on this planet here, it's called Zoresh by the way. Apparently, he had been to Gallifrey four millennia ago, and grew fond of the plant. He owns a giant tea garden about a kilometre from here. It is still there in the time you come from, Miss Jones," she answered gently. "Even the gardens on our land hadn't been _that_ good, but we didn't spend that much time to practise… I keep it around for homesick hours, and when one of the people I rescue needs patching up."

Martha sipped the tea. It was definitely different from anything she'd ever had drunk as tea before, light and sweet and flowery, definitely not something to be drunk with milk or sugar. "This is Gallifreyan Tea? And we can buy it on this world?"

"Last place in the galaxy to do so, apart from some markets," she sighed.

"There is one thing I don't understand. If others have survived, they surely must have heard of me… why wouldn't they contact me?" He waved the list of names.

"Can you hear of someone who was born long after you died? Can you meet someone if you are frozen in time and space, unable to move thanks to the Moment or whatever caught you? Can you find those who used a Chameleon Arch?" she shot back tiredly. "Believe me, I thought it easy too, _taruelai_. I only managed to get that high a number because I was lucky and found the whole staff of the Stormeye Laboratory minutes before it went off in a thermonuclear explosion. And _that_ was 3300 years before the Time War. Only a small percentage are skydivers, people falling to their unrecorded deaths."

He set down the cup, disentangling himself from his companion to glare at his Head of House. "Why haven't _you_ tried to find _me_?"

* * *

The accusation hung in the air like lead.

Finally, the Professor sighed. "I think you remember this from before." A shadow fell over the woman's face, and she pulled out a roll of black cloth. "I haven't looked at it since I _felt_ our land and family burn. I didn't want to look at it and see only my own name glow, and everyone else in grey." Sorting the tea away, she unrolled the tapestry, which seemed to be blank. A gentle touch, and shimmering words in Linear and Circular Gallifreyan appeared, most of them in grey – the Lungbarrow House clan record/family tree. White lines connected the generations, with each having a box full of names accompanying it.

Only two as Martha could see were shining gold, and quite a few were silver. "The silver ones, are those people you rescued so far?"

"And brought to the White Space. The White Space is a demiplane, a place with only three dimensions – there is no Time in it, so it's ideal for 'storing' people… for no time will have passed when I get them out, but until then, they're not quite alive." She shrugged. "I found it when I fell through a black hole… and lived. Since then however, my TARDIS has the tick of appearing as a _neon-coloured_ door. Preferably Magenta or something equally outrageous. And my name became Professor." She touched the tapestry again, vanishing the names and sighed again. "I don't know. It never occurred to me that you might be alive. When the land and the others burnt… I just locked down, and never reopened my mind until today."

And boy did she open it. He had almost forgotten how intense his mother's presence was to members of the House, a constant, painfully obsessive beacon of love and security to children of clan, blood and name, and how much he had missed it. Mixed in was however a huge amount of guilt, guilt for not looking for him… "I think I understand. But maybe… someone else set us up, to meet not before today?"

"You mean like the Silence or the Eternals, or the Children of Space?" Rolling up the cloth, she poured more tea, handing out the cups again. "It is possible…" Sipping her tea, she let her head hang, slumping into the ottoman beside him. "Too possible… blimey. By _Omega_, I've always attracted complicated timelines and fates, what made me think it would be any different this time?"

"I don't what you mean with Silence, but the others? It sounds convincing." He leaned into her, joining in the sighing. "A burnt world which leaves your mind screaming does that, even to you." He had been the one turning the key, pushing the button, and had to live with it. But, despite being _heir_, he could not imagine how it must have been to _her_ – mother to them all, lord of the land. Person linked with all of them, interwoven with the very planet. And a talented, powerful psychic to boot. "It's a wonder you're still sane."

"Honestly? I doubt I ever was. I'm Lungbarrow after all. Our whole Chapter was insane in a way," she mused.

Martha giggled. "You should see him grin when he's talking about running."

"I can just imagine, I'm the same. You seem to have a question though."

"I do. What's a Chapter? And what was your home like, before the war?"

"Chapter is short for Chapter House. Basically, it was a political faction your Family or House belonged to and thus, you were born into them. I – and thus the Doctor – am a scion and follower of Prydon, the Devious Ones," she explained. "About our home, I don't know… when we didn't have guests? Filled with jokes and laughter. And of course, no-one could stop talking. Some say even the _walls_ were chatterboxes. Of course, when we did have guests, we had the solemn act down pat." She shook her head, trying to get her conflicting feelings under control. "I used to sing in the nursery for the loomlings… tell stories to the born…"

Martha was at a loss as the two Gallifreyans clung to each other, trying not to lose it again, and resorted to putting away the empty tea cups onto a side table. _What kind of hell must it be to be so alone?_

_A hell you cannot imagine, child_, a female voice sounded in her head. _Don't be afraid. I'm the Professor's TARDIS. I would show you my holographic avatar to explain, but I don't want to interrupt these two. Just think your answer_.

_Err… hello. But how do you mean that exactly?_ Picking up the tray, she followed the nudging hints to a kitchen which was clearly meant for tea/coffee only.

An immense feeling of sadness brushed through Martha's mind, mixed in with loneliness. _All the Children of Gallifrey used to be telepaths, and were aware of each other's existence on some level. They were never alone, no matter where or when. The members of a Great High House, like that of the Doctor and my beloved Professor, Lungbarrow… it was even more, they were connected. Bound by blood, name and souls. Imagine how it feels if you are used to feeling loved and belonging and then you are suddenly all alone, truly alone, when it is so silent you can hear the air collide_.

Martha shuddered. _As if someone had ripped out a part of your soul and burnt it to ashes, right?_

_Yes_. The TARDIS sent her an image to show her where the Professor kept some of the Illawarra.

_Thank you for explaining. By the way, how come that I can hear you, but not the Doctor's TARDIS? _she voiced her wonder. _I always had trouble accepting she's alive until today I admit._

_I am meant for more than observation and travel. The Professor fitted several non-Gallifreyan technologies into me to aid her with enforcement and research… one of them strengthens my telepathy to the point I can talk to non-telepaths without problems. Very handy, especially when **she** needs help_.

_Would that work on the Doctor's too?_

_I don't see why not. Careful. It should not brew longer than 2 minutes_.

_Okay. How is it that the Doctor always makes perfect tea?_

_Time Lord. The name states it all – he can feel and see time. Actually, considering who his mother is, he should be able to **hear** it too… the timelines_.

_Wow. _Martha pulled out the filter with the red tea leaves, throwing them into the bin. _You must have seen a lot._

_Well, I suppose. Should I make your way to the library shorter?_

_You can do that?_

_I am a TARDIS_, she replied proudly.

_Then please_. And, true to the sentient ship's word, the tea kitchen's door opened into the primary library. _Thank you_.

_Martha Jones, you are a star. Don't you dare forgetting it – the Professor would never allow her son either_.

_Really. I'll keep that in mind_… As she finally reached the lounge area, she was greeted by a rare scene – the Doctor was asleep, his head in his mother's lap. She set down the tray and smiled. "Now that's something you don't see every day."

The Professor's eyes snapped open, revealing just how emotionally exhausted the ancient woman was. "I know what you mean – he's a little hyper, isn't he? Have you two done anything mentally or physically stressing lately?"

Martha sat down in the armchair across. "Well, he's been possessed by the living sun of the Torajii system. His TARDIS was the one getting us here to this place – originally, we had planned to just hang out a little in the Time Vortex after that insanity. I think he didn't want to risk running into trouble."

"Sound deduction." The Time Lady studied her son's companion intently, especially the young woman's timelines. "You are a strong one, to put up with him… tell me more about you please. He said you study medicine, and are from London, 21st century, in other words, our present time… and he's scared of your mother. But that's about it."

"My mother elicits that reaction in many people unfortunately. First time she met him, she slapped him." Martha giggled. "I have the full package of a larger-than-life family, and although not completely ideal, I still have them – mum, dad, older sister, baby brother. Not as fancy as you two were used to, but…"

"Easier to keep track of, I can imagine. Why not ideal?"

"My parents are divorced since I was 12." She frowned. "Why so interested?"

"To be honest, I could have obtained your entire history without asking, down to your feelings. But you are not one of my convicts, so it is impossibly rude to do so." She picked up the one-hand pot, pouring more tea for the two of them. "Plus to get your full history I would have to focus all my attention on doing so; it's quite tiring afterwards and can give the user an incredible headache."

"That sounds unpleasant," Martha said, imagining what would be enough pain to make a Time Lord cringe, well, apart from being possessed by a sentient sun.

"Well the pain is one thing… it's the ticking sound of time afterwards that gets annoying… and the odd taste of pears." She shuddered. "Never been a fan of pears."

Martha chuckled. "The Doctor has mentioned his own disdain for them."

"Family trait. Well, all in all, I think my TARDIS hinted at it already – I have the ability to hear history's course."

Martha accepted the cup. "She did. What did she mean by that?"

Rearranging her son's limbs, the Professor practically downed her tea, dug into the bottomless pockets of her cargo pants and drew out a block of psychic paper. "All Children of Gallifrey have an awareness for the fourth dimension going beyond that of nearly all other races, feeling the flow of _time_," she explained, letting a watch without hands appear on the paper. "A Chronarch's, that is, a Time Lord's or Time Lady's time senses were, with the right training, so sharp they could _see_ time and timelines – what was, is, will be, may be and should not be, and control it to some extent. To use that image of the watch – a Time Lord can actually read the watch and set it right." The hands for hours and minutes appeared. "And there are those who could go beyond that… and can, with a little concentration and training, _hear_ time's course for the surroundings or even an individual. It's one thing to see your timelines, but it's another to actually hear what has happened to you or will happen." The watch now displayed the sweep, the seconds hand, and small sound words (tic-tac, tic-tac). "I don't know exactly why, but ever since the ability surfaced amongst our people, it has been described to appear as a form of ticking in the initial stages, which is why imagining or listening to a ticking timepiece also helps using it. Statistically, it is about 1 in 100 people to have that ability – **Ear of Chronos**. Factually, it showed up only in certain families, and then often excessively down the main line. But it made also you susceptible to being too different from normal society to fit in…" She stroked her son's hair gently, sending him a suggestion to stay asleep. "Nearly my whole house were runners. Fighters, rebellious and peculiar at hearts in some way or another – one of my great-grandsons was, well, a poet for nonsense literature, much to the chagrin of the Council. At the same time, that made us protectors – Valeyards, Chancellery Guards, people of responsibility. But most were not sensitive enough to it to cause trouble, unlike Theta or me. I only got it under wraps by being Valeyard, free to cajole around time and space as long as I did my job."

"Ah." In an imitation of the Doctor, Martha lifted an eyebrow. "Theta?"

"That was his childhood name in school. Adults choose a title-name which represents what they are to the world to protect their birth name. But since only your parents and your bondmate know your true _name_-name, you used a short alias to address each other in school. Usually, that was your calling name. In his case, it's Theta Sigma, short, Theta or Thete, but don't call him that, you're not related," she smiled. "I think the Council messed a little too much with his DNA – his hearing is blocked, his restoration inactive, and he can't control his regeneration properly. But enough theory."

"Yeah… honestly, that was all well-explained, but… a bit much, like a full lecture…" Martha's eyes widened. "_Professor_. That's why they call you the Professor. Leader-teacher-master-protector-mentor-researcher, all in one."

The woman simply nodded, putting the empty tea set aside. "I think we all need a break. No adventure, no rescue-those-who-disappeared-or-deserted, just a holiday. What a day." Gently, she picked up her son, much to Martha's surprise, and carried him outside, back to his TARDIS.

* * *

After the Doctor had been settled in his own bed (and the Professor had parked her TARDIS in the console room of all things), Martha sat with the other Chronarch in the Professor's TARDIS kitchen over a plate of steamed buns and more Illawarra tea. "I still don't get how you were able to carry him; you are not exactly that bulky."

The Professor rolled her eyes, murmuring a curse in two different languages. "_Theta, you're impossible. You take along a student of the healing arts and then don't teach her about your anatomy. Are you trying to **provoke**_ _a regeneration_?" she murmured in Gallifreyan. She shook her head. "No matter. I'm better at it anyway. Never let a Temporal Engineer do the work of a Healer Geneticist… The reason I can carry him that effortlessly is muscle density. It's higher than in a human."

Martha caught on immediately. "Higher strength in small areas. How much can you lift maximum?"

"Me personally, four times my own weight, but I've been trained to fight. Normally, about three to three-and-a-half times. Be right back." Hushing out of the room, she came back only a minute later with another of these crystal slabs. "Antarian version of an e-book. This is the full works of Gallifreyan anatomy and body chemistry, if you're interested."

"That would be amazing," Martha responded, barely holding in her excitement as she took the book out of the woman's hands. It was surprisingly light, like carbon fibres. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. If you ever need help with your studies, I am willing to." She smiled. "I suggest you go to bed, and I'll take us somewhere to relax for a while."

"Really?"

"Hm-hm."

"Well then… good night, Professor."

"Good night, Miss Jones."

* * *

Reaching the console room of her son's TARDIS, the Professor sat down heavily in the captain's chair, gently touching the console. _Hello_.

In answer, the old machine – it was hard to say if the Time Lady or the TARDIS was older – let her rotor column glow, akin to the way a guilty child whistled. _Err… hi?_

_I hope you have taken good care of him_.

_I will do_… _I mean have done all I can._

_What about him and that young woman? It has been a while, but I have never seen him running away from **himself**_ _before. What happened?_ In answer, the sentient ship sent her a few images and video sequences of Rose, which earned her the mental equivalent of a hiss. _**Pink**? He doesn't even like pink, not even in this form. _

_Post-regenerative trauma. And the whole guilt over Gallifrey… _

_Oh dear, what a psychological mess. I hate damsels. Rassilon and Omega, I disowned my own daughter for becoming one, and it wasn't something I really wanted to do. Anyway. I think I have my work cut out. Again. As if marrying off the Distractress hasn't been bad enough._

_I like Martha better too. I can only do so much to keep the Doctor out of danger and it helps to have someone to call him out on his idiocies. Can you install that Antarian telepathy booster in me? I would love to be able to talk to her._

_I'll do that once we've made it to Kesh'at. I think Martha will appreciate a planet dedicated to shopping and trade._ Setting the coordinates, she gently guided the ship into the time vortex. _I have the feeling there is something you want to say though_.

_I… I'm sorry Milady… I stole your taruelai, your son and your heir from you._ The Professor could feel the sadness emanating from the TARDIS. _I wanted to see the universe, so I stole a Time Lord and ran away, but I didn't bargain to steal Lungbarrow's 'prince' of all of them._ A cheerful wave filled their connection. _Though he also stole me… I'm sorry Milady Lungbarrow, but at the same time I cannot feel remorse for my actions. If I was given the chance to take it all back I would refuse every time._

At that confession, the characteristically manic grin of the High Ancient and Most Exalted House Lungbarrow of the Hills spread slowly over the Professor's face. _To be honest? I'm glad you did. You saved his life, and so, you will always be in my good graces, beautiful. Now. How about that holiday_?

_It will be my pleasure, ma'am._

* * *

As the Doctor awoke, all the tiredness from yesterday had vanished like a bad dream, a feeling he hadn't had in eight centuries to be frank. Much to his confusion, he was in his own room, dressed in his pinstripe pyjamas. _Was it just a dream? I thought I found Janayi again, and cried myself to sleep in her library. If it was a dream_… _Oh Rassilon, I don't want it to be a dream! I don't want to be alone!_ Fearful, he sat up, reaching for his robe and slippers. Something was odd about the room… and then he realised it was _tidy_. Everything was still somewhat around the spots he'd dumped it, but now, it had a sense of order about it, allowing easy access. Almost apprehensive, he put on the house-wear and slumped in the general direction of the kitchen… as the smell of pancakes and tea hit his sensitive nose. _I doubt Martha would cook me banana pancakes. The tea I can imagine, but pancakes?_ Picking up the pace, he hurried to the open kitchen/dining room, and froze in the doorframe as his mother's unmistakable, beautifully complex presence hit his senses. "_Janayi_?" Stupefied, he noticed she had toned her presence down to the point it would not flood the whole TARDIS.

"Don't call me that in the early morning, _lah taruelai_," the woman admonished jokingly. She stood at the stove, flipping pancakes. As he made no way to move, she turned down the flame and glared at him in an all-too-familiar manner. "Well? Are you going to stay standing there all day and all night or are you going to join us with breakfast, Theta-Sigma?"

Martha, who sat at the table with a serving of apple pancakes, snickered. "If only I had a camera right now."

"That'd be _brilliant_ indeed," the taller woman smirked.

Hearing their common catchphrase, he snapped out of it and shuffled over to the Professor's side, accepting the plate of banana pancakes. "Thank you, _Janayitrita_," he smiled sheepishly. As he walked to the table, he noticed that the spot opposite of Martha was already occupied. _I am in so much trouble, am I not?_

_Well, what do you think?_ both the TARDIS and his mother resounded in his head. _I am your Janayitrita, that means I know your hearts better than you do. But we won't dive into your madness today – today, it's shopping day._ The Professor sat down in the reserved spot, facing the duet. "Ladies and gentlemen, today, we have landed on _Kesh'at_, the great Exchange Market of the Antarian Realm, where you can buy and sell everything, from aardvarks over whole solar systems to zyle'ta biscuits. We have been confirmed by the Antarian authorities, and have a week-long visa to the Milky Way parts of the Realm. Outside, it is a balmy 21°C, under a fair sky. Pack shopping bags, because here you can get _everything_." Grinning, she cut off a piece of her own banana-and-strawberry pancakes, bit down, made a face, and splurged the confection with chocolate sauce. "We are currently parked outside of the Palace of Relaxation of Aldurathiel, a professional hostess, and I have booked a day for three tomorrow in it. Any questions?"

"You're really here?" he managed.

"For doubting your own senses you can do the dishes and carry all the shopping," she glared. "And if you may remember, I never go with small shopping since I do it so rarely."

Reasonably admonished, he ducked his head. "Yes, _Janayitrita_."

"Nice." Much to his chagrin, Martha held up a hand, and gave his mother a high five. "So, this place is what like, the biggest shopping mall in the universe?"

"Shopping paradise. I come here once in a while for upgrades and spare parts," she shrugged. "Anything, from anywhere." Finishing her plate and tea, she dumped the dishes on her son. "You have exactly 25 minutes to clean up and get dressed. That's how long I need to pick up some charged platinum."

With that, the women glided out of the room, leaving behind a very frazzled Time Lord. A rumble went through the TARDIS – she was laughing at him. _I never thought I'd see the day you're properly chastised._

_Oh right, salt in the wound. My Janayitrita is back in my life for less than 18 hours and you side with her already_, he grumbled, washing the dishes.

_But she is right, in way too many ways. How long are you going to ignore poor Martha like that? Or your own emotions for the matter._

_I don't know what you are talking about_, he deflected, hurrying to his room to get dressed. _Besides… _

_Don't you dare bringing **her** up now. Your Janayitrita would kick you into your 20th regeneration, reset your cycle and then start all over again for even mentioning someone like that. Call me a meddling old rock all you like, but it's true in your case. Mother knows best. You've wallowed too long, Doctor._

Choosing a blue suit and red Converses, he sighed. _I am… just not ready_.

At this, a warm mix of feelings of love, amusement and frustration swept through his body as the TARDIS sent him the equivalent of a hug and a shake of the head. _Go. You're going to be late_.

_I'm being ganged up by a bunch of ancient women_, he thought sourly as he made it to the console room, narrowly avoiding his mother's TARDIS.

_Feels like home, doesn't it?_ his TARDIS sent after him.

* * *

Early 21st century Kesh'at was grand, glittering like a jewel. At least the part they had landed in. The Antarian Quarter of Kesh'at was basically a show-off zone, owned by Antarians or their non-Antarian students and followers. But it also yielded some of the best services in the galaxy, Martha had to admit. "How come these people are _that_ good at everything?"

"If you had 63.000 years to practice medicine, you would also be a genius at it," the Doctor remarked, being abused as bag-hanger – just as threatened. "Antarians are… well, I suppose you could call them the older, Space-weaving, World-Making counterpart of Time Lords. They don't regenerate like us, they reincarnate. And their lives last between 33.000 and 63.000 years on the average."

"Maximum age depends on choir and personal preference. But being of a higher choir means both living longer and _earning_ your next life," the Professor explained. "In time, you _**may**_ remember your past life, and use that knowledge… To answer the earlier question about them looking like Angels with Technicolor metallic hair, well, the legends _base_ upon them. Humans look Time Lord, Chronarchs look Antarian; that's the reverse order of evolution. Antarian means in their language either Child of Light or Lord of Space. Depends on the language form. Oh, they have zyle'ta biscuits on sale!"

The Doctor groaned, trailing behind the shopping women. "I had forgotten what happens when my mother actually does go on a shopping trip."

"_Theta!_"

"Coming, Janayitrita."

Later, they were sitting around a dinner platform in the restaurant of Taleth Talethiel, a gentlemanly Antarian Culinarist Grigori of the Choir of Thrones (black hair, dark skin and tall as a tree), and apparently, an old friend of the Professor. The place normally needed months of reservation, but… "I wonder what kind of favour Master Talethiel owes you to reserve you a platform permanently, mother." The Doctor was, aptly for a day of shopping, surrounded by bags over bags of purchases, ranging from books (himself and Martha) over wardrobe (all three – one of the interstellar traders had limited edition Converses) to spare parts for their TARDISes. And, even considering he was the one to carry all of it, he admitted freely it had been fun, so much fun.

"Honestly? He lost his main cookbook. I brought it back," the Professor grinned, sipping her drink.

Martha gulped – a cook and his cookbook… "His cookbook? Now that's a favour. So let me get this straight. A _grigori_ is an Antarian who, unlike the rest of them, chooses to make one specific field, one science or art, his or her specialty for all their life?"

"Yes. Oh, and before you ask. Except for the soup and the hot dishes, one eats Antarian fare with the fingers."

"Oh yes, I remember that! It's out of respect for the cook not to use psychokinesis or cutlery, if I am not mistaken," the Doctor grinned. "And there it comes…"

"Mixed Imperial Platter II for three people," the waiter (a human or near-human – neither Martha nor the Doctor were quite sure about that) announced, stopping his serving wagon beside them, and put down several platters in between them. Then, he placed three bowls of scented water and three towels with each of them. "If I may remind you…"

"Wash the hands, I know," the Professor smiled. "Send Master Taleth my thanks."

"Milady." The man vanished quietly.

"Has the disappearing act down pat," Martha remarked. "Is that custom?"

"Taleth learnt cooking in the Imperial Household, so, pretty much. Antarians… well, they are not exactly completely material beings anymore, more like stabilised energy; they can vanish literally in the blink of an eye and appear somewhere else – teleportation. So, any employee of them tries to mimic that ability as closely as possible, if I remember correctly… anyway. Enjoy." The dishes consisted mostly of small packages and 'nibbles' (that earned the Doctor a mental headslap), ranging from sweet over juicy and aromatic to just plain surprising, served together with a simple vegetable soup. Well, apart from the fact that it contained edible flower petals as toppings. But, ever the planner, the Professor used the relaxed atmosphere to get more answers. "So. What have you been up to, son?"

"Oh, this and that. Travelling around, see new places, get in trouble, troubleshooting," he dismissed, snatching a few more bites. "And running. Running till we drop."

"Sounds familiar," his mother smiled. "And way less bleak than what I do – stealing the maybe-dead, annoying SEGA game developers about Sonic the Hedgehog…"

"How come you've never even _heard _of me since the war?" he frowned.

She made a face. "Have you ever looked back and seen how difficult it is to keep track of you? I may be a Valeyard, but have you forgotten that means I am lousy with the order of events? You're literally _all over history_. The entry in the Antarian Military Historical Archives on you is the same size as that of a solar system. Same goes for The Library." Still grumbling, she pulled out a pad and handed it over to Martha. "Just for reference."

Martha checked the pad. It had a pre-printed header, all in English. "'List A: Order of how things have happened. List B: Order of how things are _supposed_ to happen. List C: Corrections needed to make B=A.' What the hell is that?"

"A work aid. As we told you before, one of the main jobs of a Valeyard is repairing history. Unfortunately, I have been doing this for _so_ long I tend to mix up the order of events, for example when predestination paradoxes and the likes are involved. Now try to find someone who has interwoven his own timelines into all of history so much he becomes god, demon, legend and simple man all in one," she grumbled, a guilty shadow all over her face.

The Doctor sighed heavily. "Sorry. Can't help it."

She shook her head, pouring some of the wine. "Don't. It's your title-name after all."

Meanwhile, Martha had finished eating, and was deep in thought. "Well… Professor, you said earlier one can buy anything on this planet as long as it is condoned by the Antarians. What about information?"

"Gossip and News district, two hours from here by speedrail, and half a second by teleport net. Why?"

"Didn't you two speculate yesterday that someone has interfered with your 'fate'? Made sure you wouldn't meet earlier?" The med student fixated the two Chronarchs. "I mean, you described these people as pretty much as powerful as your own, if not more."

Mother and son shot each other a look, shocked. But slowly, a grin spread over the Professor's face. "I like her."

"They are, and they can do these things; it's controlling the 'life course'." The Doctor concentrated, trying to remember. "_Janayitrita_, if I remember correctly, Markings of Fate are matter of public record, aren't they?"

"Depends on who issued them. If it were the sovereigns themselves… then it would be only available on the Underground Market," the woman remarked, the excitement fading away in favour of the previous sour expression. "Which is, given our respective history, all too likely… You and I, with our complicated timelines, we downright attract these warrants, without them noticing, and then they're retroactive…" She snatched the last bite.

All three groaned simultaneously. It was way too complicated. Again. Finally, the Doctor sighed. "I think it would be a good idea to check it out, but I have the feeling it won't be smooth sailing…"

Martha shot the Professor a look, who nodded sourly. "With our luck? Never."

* * *

The Gossip and News District – a city of its own dedicated to information trade – was very different from the downright organic, crystalline and glittering look of the Antarian Quarter. While the Builders of Kesh'at preferred to not build higher than a normal tree would grow (5-15 metres), which was how high their standard crystal vine skeletons grew, the non-Antarian buildings often had the audacity of reaching the sky, causing to create an undercity hundreds of metres below. Reaching the upper quarter by teleport platform was fast, but the long lift down was stepping into another world. Not that it had the slum-like qualities like the undercity of New New York (this world's masters were obsessive about order of things), but… "I don't know how you two feel, but it feels totally shady and wrong to be here," Martha shuddered. "This place gives me the creeps."

"And you are right to feel so, Martha," the Doctor remarked. "We are in a grey law zone, and for a reason. The information in this part is not exactly legally obtained."

"What the Guards enforce is a smooth running, no murder, lawful duels, dealing with fraud. They are among the best customers anyway, so crashing and burning this place is a bad idea to them. Came here for intel more than a few times myself," the Professor shrugged. "Now, warrants of the Great Seven and the Imperial Household – that's the collective of the Seven Antarian Sovereigns and their families – are not exactly secret, but getting information on them is ridiculously difficult, as they tend to speak in prophecies. But I still have my sources. Follow me."

Trailing after the former Gallifreyan Time LEO, the med student turned to the Doctor. "_Seven_ sovereigns?"

"The Antarian Realm is a parliamentary oligarchy, same as Gallifrey used to be. The sovereigns… well, they are leaders, but not part of the actual government in times of peace. They are more like moral guides, examples. Their responsibilities are a bit more direct to the universe. Instead, the sovereigns choose once in a millennium one of their children to be High Regent to do day-to-day governing work with the elected council, senate and government. The High Regent speaks the will of the Great Seven," he explained. "I'm not very good on Antarian society I admit – I'm simply too young for that. My mother was born in the Golden Age, in a time we were on speaking terms with them, and… well."

"Doctor, you did something that angered them in the past, didn't you?" Martha accused.

"No," the Professor shook her head. "It happened way before he was born. A dispute in philosophy caused a rift between the Seven and the Eighteen Stars. As you see here… the Antarians stayed involved with younger races, worship change and adaptability, whereas Gallifrey… retreated into an Ivory Tower so to speak. Became stagnant and arrogant. In a way, I am a fossil, a relic of a different age, in which knowledge was more shared than later on."

"And still they would never dare to get rid of you, for you represent all they considered glorious about Gallifrey. Even if your attitude gave them a headache," he finished. "And when you passed the 10th millennia mark, it was obsolete to argue you."

"That counted for most of our house anyway. A clan of fighters… on a world of pacifists. Maybe that was also a point. You've seen them, Martha. The Antarians are warriors, always were, always will be. They never forgot how to fight, and how to deal with the emotional consequences," the older woman sighed. "I sometimes wonder what would have happened if _we_ hadn't forgotten that kind of mental discipline. And hadn't gone to hide on one world."

"How many Antarians are out there anyway?"

Mother and son exchanged a look. "Billions," the Doctor answered. "They have an _empire _across the stars, always following the trail of metal."

"Metal."

"Tritanium and Ditanium. The twin metals, only found in certain parts of galaxies, usually with Population II stars. They're polar opposites, a superconductor and an ultra-insulator. Tritanium Difluoride is in fact the base component in Antarian blood. You won't find much iron on their homeworld, and next-to-zero radioactive material," the Time Lady explained, coming to a halt before a small shop. "Also, you have to consider one thing: Antarians are not called World Makers for nothing. Here we are. Now, I need you two to be careful with words, as neither of you speaks High Antarian properly, and the TARDIS doesn't translate it." She glared at her son.

The Doctor winced. "I'm sorry?"

"Not good enough, Theta. I hope you still can at least _understand_ it."

"I do."

As she opened the door, the trio had barely time to "_Duck_!", as the inhabitant yelled, the hand still outstretched. A small sphere of lightning raced over their heads, exploding as it hit the wall behind them.

"What in the Hells was that for, Illarion?" the Professor glared at the Infomerchant in the office.

"Some arse just teleported out," he answered in flawless English, having noticed the human. "Wasn't quick enough blasting him. Tried to steal my customer's register." The infomerchant was an Antarian man – the tall, slender build, fair skin, dark blue hair and purple eyes betrayed him as a Seraphim. Relaxing out of the fighting stance, he brushed off his jacket and retracted his owl-like white wings into their astral form. "I'm sorry for the mess, but the guards never come into my corner, former palace guard and all."

"No, it's fine captain." The Professor closed the door behind her.

Illarion made a seemingly absent-minded gesture, causing his psychokinesis to clean up the chaos. "Forgive my manners, but selling palace gossip tends to be troublesome. De-ra'iya nen'she, Milady Professor," he bowed. "Who are your friends?"

"This is my son, The Doctor, and his companion, Miss Martha Jones," the Professor introduced. "Everyone, this is Illarion, formerly a captain in the Imperial Palace Guard, and the best source on information about the Antarian Capitol world on Kesh'at."

"How come you're former?" The Doctor wondered. Palace guards usually were grigori – they lived and died for this line of work. "Oh, I'm sorry."

Illarion laughed. "Not offended, Doctor. Loved gossip too much, so I quit and started selling it." He turned sombre and businesslike. "So, what brings you here?" Another wave of his fingers, and a tray of tea flew in.

"We need information on an imperial warrant for a Marking of Fate," the Professor answered. "Specifically, any order of prophecy pertaining the Revival of Gallifrey, and the Lasts of the Time Lords."

The seraphim nodded, already at his desk, clicking through a holographic computer system. "How come you travel with an _Assian _human, Doctor?"

"Are you intending on selling this information?"

"No. Just curiosity. Last time I was on Assiah, a guy named Augustus ruled most of Europe if I remember correctly. Accompanied Leikar Kaletiel for a _day of blessings_. Interesting bunch, humans… a lot like us actually. Well, before the _Apocalypse Not_ event."

"Martha is my friend. And I've been accused to have an obsession with Earth throughout my life. Like the Professor with your people."

"Haha. Too true." Suddenly, Illarion froze and let out a long, colourful string of curses in various languages, downright slapping open a message from one of his agents. "_Sheltera, zinu_! No, no, no! Not now, not today…" Taking a deep breath, he calmed down. "Professor, I must decline the work offer. A situation has come up, and it needs my resources."

Martha dove in. "Anything we can do to help?"

The former captain frowned. "I don't know… although… hmm. Professor. I may have an offer for you. Resolve the situation, and I will consider you as _old friend_. You will have your information then."

"What is the situation?" the Doctor asked.

Illarion looked from one face to the next. "What is the Achilles' heel of Antarian abilities?"

"Ditanium," the Professor answered automatically. "It cuts off the internatural energy streams, energy conversion abilities and spatial abilities. As a non-conductor, the only way to work with it are temperatures comparable to a sun's surface and mechanical force, which is why it's smelted and forged in star plasma furnaces. It's like dwarf star alloy to time-sensitives."

"And trade with it is strictly forbidden," the former soldier finished grimly. "It's too dangerous in the wrong hands. Imagine what would happen if the _Daleks_ ever got their filthy pepper-shaker bodies on it."

Martha shuddered. "That would be a nightmare, wouldn't it?"

"Not just a nightmare, Miss. It would be the end of everything." Illarion scanned the message again. "Anyway, someone broke into a military shipyard warehouse during a blackout and stole five metric megatons of ship-armour grade ditanium. Probably to make a fast platina." He grumbled. "I bet the perpetrator is some idiot whose race lived under our protection for so long they'd take us for granted. Mortals."

Martha winced. "Seen that on Earth too. No regard for consequences. Are we going to help him?"

The Doctor looked at his mother, who seemed to be a bit preoccupied with sending some sort of message, and thus turned to Illarion. "Where is the shipment now?"

"The trackers say it is on the edge of the private shipyards, but that's not the problem. The customer is coming in about 15 hours, and he's _not_ Antarian military," he finished. "You have to stop them both. Before that shipment leaves Kesh'at, because when that happens, it will tickle the Senate into agreement."

"And that is bad because…"

"They haven't been able to agree on something unanimously for a whole millennium. It's not in our nature to _not_ have an opinion. And the supremacists have a thing about being against everything but war-related topics." The infomerchant stared at them in utter fear. "This can cause war. On a scale the older Time Wars will look like skirmishes. Moreover, it will give political ammo for the supremacists on the council."

"Not good?"

"Abysmal. And the reason why I am not sending the Market Authority after that guy yet…" He let it hang.

Martha's mind rattled. Hazard material. Military secret. Achilles' Heel of a race of protectors. Warrior race with a huge honour concept. Her eyes widened. "What's the penalty for smuggling the twin metals?"

_I really like her, Theta_.

_She's brilliant. I get that, Janayi_.

Illarion looked away. "Death by burning at the stake, being tossed into a star, or into the galactic centre at faster-than-light speed, all while being alive. It's treason."

"Oh my god." The med student shot her Gallifreyan companions a look, who sported similar expressions. "You knew."

"If there is one thing the World Makers are paranoid about, it's their own weakness. Their 'Kryptonite' so to speak. And in a way, it _is_ treason," the Doctor mused, the head already spinning with the lines of reasoning. "The Antarians have _no_ obligation whatsoever to protect all these people, teach them their knowledge and provide a stable government, not to mention having founded the Shadow Proclamation, and there some greedy _kid_ goes and tries to make a fast dime from their only physical weakness, probably selling it to their enemies."

"But what if someone could find a positive use for it?"

Illarion shook his head. "There isn't any. Ditanium has only three applications. Power cuffs – a manacle set which stops my kind from using ESP abilities barring a surge flash, Security like prison cells and vaults, Telepathy blocking interrogation rooms and Ship Armour. And believe me, Miss Jones, we've tried. For about eight hundred million years. Not even the Time Lords are as old as us."

"There's a Gallifreyan saying," the Professor began, continuing in her native tongue.

"Translation, '_Time_ was born the moment _Space_ chose to take the stage'," the Doctor finished. "As said earlier, they're older than us. And that's hardly the point. Captain. I take it you don't want that fool to die for something like that, don't you?"

"Not if I can help it. But the authorities will not be so forthcoming unless served on a platinum platter. Regulation of military supplies is traditionally supremacist turf."

The trio exchanged looks and nodded simultaneously. "Tell us what we need to know," the Professor asked.

* * *

The planetside parts of the shipyards were mostly laboratories, hangars and warehouses, again with the distinction between the rather organic look of the planet's rulers and their protected. Well, apart from the warehouses – those were apparently standard issue boxes of steel so to speak. Assembly was in space. "How do they not get lost here?"

In answer, the Professor simply pointed ahead at a crossroads. What looked at the first moment like a crystalline sculpture was in fact some kind of signpost. "The Antarians are well-aware that most people can't just teleport around or see the eleven planes. But they also love art."

The Doctor was scanning the air with his sonic screwdriver. "Kind of difficult to find Ditanium here."

"What do you expect? This is a shipyard. On a world in the Antarian realm. Be happy we're in the civilian district."

Martha compared the 'branches' of the signpost with the electronic notes Illarion had given them, and pointed to the left. "That way."

"Agreed." The road – lined with freight hangars – they had taken was… well, if the street in front of Illarion's shop had been shady, this one was plain wrong. It practically screamed smuggling. "Well, I think we found another part of the Underground Market."

The sonic bleeped. "Aha! I got a hit!"

"Let me guess. We have to sneak all the way to the end," Martha smiled.

"No fun otherwise," the two Lungbarrow grinned.

"Warehouse 13. Now that's a cliché if there was any," the Professor mumbled as they had reached their destination – a warehouse-hangar combo at the end of the block.

"Unlucky number?"

"The number of nothingness. Whoever owns the place is likely a Feratian – near human-race – and an absolute idiot," the Doctor explained.

"Find a hiding place, _taruelai_. I'll have a look around."

"Why you and not all of us–"

The Professor held a sonic blaster and an Infrared/Sonic screwdriver into his face as answer. "Who of us did 15.400 years of law enforcement, _taruelai_?"

He nodded numbly. "Point taken. But be careful."

_You'll hear me. I'm just scouting for now. Good thing I bought the gravity leveller_, she whispered into their minds.

After she had vanished from sight, the Doctor reached for Martha's hand. "Let's go."

Following him, she frowned about what the Professor had mentioned about a gravity leveller. "I saw her buy that thing, but what is it, Doctor? It looked a little like an electronic combination lock…"

Pulling her into an empty space between warehouse 11 and 12, he started to explain. "Most state-of-the-art Antarian technology amplifies one or more abilities they have themselves, only on a larger scale, or mimics them to make the ability available to races who can't do these things; to them, there is no greater inventor than evolution – most is bionics in one way or another, even their FTL travel technology. For example, I have the genetic potential to be psychokinetic, my mother _is_ to a certain extent, but I haven't lived long enough in this body to actually use it; the Antarians can do so too – and made machines for kinetic lifting so they don't have to do it themselves all the time. Among many other things, Antarians can nullify or redirect gravity to either levitate or walk on walls and ceiling: Gravity Levelling. I think the inventor for that particular technology – Gravity Levelling – created it as a party trick, as it is not very common; Anti-grav generators are far more common." He paused shortly, trying to get the knowledge in order. "Gravity levellers are devices about the size of combination locks that _redirect _gravity, rather than nullify or reduce, enabling a person to stand and manoeuvre on walls, or even ceilings, mimicking the Antarian ability to do the same. They can be for personal use, or built into vehicles. They are easier to operate and take less energy than anti-gravitation generators and gravimetric dampeners. My mother bought one for personal use, and clipped it on her belt."

"So she'll walk on the ceiling. Won't the smuggler notice her, with her huge presence?"

"On a world full of super-telepaths, I doubt it. The Antarians fill the whole ether with their public personae. Compared to that, we're not so much."

Indeed, the Professor had used the gravity leveller to first climb up the wall, and then cling to the underside of a support beam inside the warehouse, watching the near-humans go about their work. _Feratians. I hate it when I am right about these things. And Illarion was right about it being a race living a long time under their protection, 22.000 years if I remember correctly, but that's not even an Antarian lifetime. Why do these short-lived always take them for granted? _She shook her head and pulled out her sonic, setting it to IR material scan. _If I was some Ditanium ship armour plating, where would I… oh you must be joking!_ But it wasn't a joke. About twenty metres to her right, a group of anti-gravity storage containers stood in a containment field. _The nerve! They still have the seal of the Imperial shipyards… Illarion was right. If the Market Authority gets here first, it could become a bloodbath_. Looking around, she found the Feratian smuggler sticking to his stolen goods. _I wonder how he got them… **Theta, Martha**_**!**

In their hiding place, the Doctor looked up, and reached for Martha's hand to connect them. _Yes, Janayi?_

_**I got some hacking work for you to do. I got an eye on the smuggler – you find the customer**_**.**

_You really think he's going to have a file on that, Professor?_ Martha wondered.

_**Feratians are about as thick and bureaucratic as Judoon. Just not as loyal to their winged masters. Trust me, that idiot will**_ _**have a customer's register, fake freight lists, actual freight lists, and a crew register.**_

The Doctor was already getting to work, tiptoeing to the side of the building. _And he has a lot of faith in nobody getting into this place because his security is very low key._

_**No. Any higher in security around here, and you have the Guards on you faster than you can say 'Space'. Besides, to open these containers, you need keys… oh fuck. He stole them. With**_ _**the keys**_**.**

_How bad is that?_ Martha interjected, sneaking with the Doctor through the shadows of the building to a sort of office in the corner.

_**Does 'kill on sight' tell you two anything? Supremacists don't care much about lower-evolved races; they strike first and leave the questioning to their non-supremacist superior officer. Clock's ticking. 12 hrs, 42 min, 2 sec.**_

_And counting_. The Doctor carefully closed the link and sonicked the door closed – while Feratians weren't telepathic, it didn't mean the smuggler didn't have ESP detectors around. "Let's get going–" In a hasty move, he pulled Martha to his chest and into a blind spot beside the door. "Too close."

"What…" Martha tried desperately not to blush.

In answer, he pointed up. A small camera fixated the desk, covering most of the room. Painstakingly slow, he pulled out his sonic again, aimed it at the fixture and froze the image. Then, he let her go. "I have to hand it to that guy. He has at least _some_ smuggling instincts." He sonicked the file cabinets open. "Find out if one of the data chips he has in there is marked for Ditanium. Symbol is a crossed-out triangle in black. Just in case."

"Okay."

As the Doctor went to work at the computer terminal, he groaned immediately. It wasn't like the smuggler used _any_ elaborate security to protect his system, but… "I have to give, that's a clever idea. Unfortunately, I can actually read that!" The computer's base code was not, as in most in the known universe, base 2 binary machine code, but base 10 – the basics of Antarian math. Which meant also the whole system was written in High Antarian. "I wonder though how a simple smuggler can afford a holo-core computer…" Using the sonic, he sped up the search. "Ditanium, Ditanium, Ditanium, ha! There you go!" Checking the file, he noticed peculiar gaps in the documentation. Things which would escape a normal man, but not him, nor would it his mother or an Antarian, if he was to bet. "That can't be coincidence…"

"Doctor?"

"It's too specific…"

"Doctor!"

He looked up, and his eyes fell on the crystal chip in Martha's hands. The Ditanium seal was printed on it. "Have I mentioned today yet that you're brilliant, Martha?"

Martha grinned. "It wouldn't hurt mentioning it from time to time, Doctor. So do we need the chip?"

"Yep, we do. It's a keyplug system. I bet neither the chip nor the computer contain full data. But if you put in the chip…" he took the small carbonite crystal and pressed it into the dock on the terminal, "there you go. Full records and… oh no. No, no, and no. This isn't good."

"Doctor? What language is this?" The writing on the projected screens reminded her of stars or constellations, the kind of writing which seemed to have been invented for printing and computer screens.

"Technically, before Earth humanity officially spreads into space, the lingua franca of the universe is Common Antarian, given how long they've been around, and so, this computer is completely in _High _Antarian, which needs a little education. Which is good because while I can't speak it properly, I still can read it," he explained. "The key contains the customer data. And we really need to grab the smuggler now and inform the Market Authority, as much as I hate it."

"Let me guess, the buyer is really dangerous, isn't he?"

"Most dangerous bunch of pirates this side of the Medusa Cascade. Uvris Combine," he pointed at the screen, showing the seal of the group. "Well, they are technically a whole fleet of pirates, all from worlds outside the Realm. But usually they don't prey on military secrets or worlds within it, so needing Ditanium is something new… oh, of course. Supremacist guards. Strike Fleets. Chaos, Law, Life, Death."

Martha caught on. "The Antarian military has been hunting them, hasn't it? And now they are getting desperate to survive."

"Yep," he confirmed, popping the 'p'. Quickly, he downloaded the completed file on another, fresh slab of crystal, and then put the computer back to how it had been, pocketing the crystal. He gave the key back to Martha, who filed it away again. "So the question becomes: what in Rassilon's name have they done to piss off the Royal Trade Route Patrol?" Sonicking the file cabinets closed, he let them out of the office, reactivated the camera, and shuffled out of the building.

"Steal something?" Martha suggested.

"No. It can't be something as trivial as that." He frowned in concentration. "If there's one thing we have seen today with the way Antarians think, it's them sticking to the big picture. Long term. It even shows in their language – they have fifteen words for life, living and lifetime, and being Grigori is something… big. Really big. Also, living that long tends to make comparatively lethargic; to anger them and get them to act takes something just as big. So, how come that a bunch of intergalactic outlaws, which are usually dealt with by the Judoon, have enough of the Senate's attention to warrant stealing 5 Mt of Ditanium?"

"Good question," a voice cut in over them. About halfway up the wall, the Professor stood, hands on her hips. "But I don't think it matters. What matters is to get all these Feratians out of here within the next five hours and alert the Market Authority to the deal. Best would be if they turn themselves in, that would save their heads."

"What happens otherwise, _janayi_?"

"The smuggler – charming fellow by the name of Kreerjar – will have a price on his head within one solar day, 36 hours. 1000 carat a ton of stolen Ditanium, plus one million bonus for the keys."

Martha shuddered at the implied number. "That's…"

"Five billion and one million platina. A king's ransom," the Doctor finished, just as his mother came down the wall. "You really think we should call in the authorities?"

"This is _about_ them. The difference is, we won't let these guys getting slaughtered for being idiots." She smirked. "As far as I remember, you talk better than I do, Theta."

The Doctor exhaled slowly. "Then I better get started."

"Move these boxes out of the way, and better yesterday," Kreerjar yelled at his subordinates. "The Uvris Captain will be here soon, and I want everything up to shipshape when he's here!"

Just after the Feratians had moved away from their boss, the group of time travellers morphed out of the shadow of one of the boxes. "You know, you are either very brave or incredibly stupid. Don't you think stealing Ditanium won't tick off your rulers?" the Doctor asked seemingly casually.

"Twenty-two thousand years we are stuck under their rule, and they still don't share their big techs," Kreerjar countered. "Who are you?"

"Not important. You think that's a lot of time, don't you?"

"It is!"

"It isn't _for them_. That's not even a lifetime, not even for a mere _principality_. And it's not important, because you've been compromised by the News and Gossip District," he warned. "Go, turn yourselves in and you will survive this. Because when the Guards come – and they will – they will reduce this place to _quarks_."

Kreerjar laughed. "Oh, let them. The Uvris will show these wannabe protectors what it means to lose once they got their hands on the armour."

"Why are you doing this?" Martha interjected. "What have they ever done to your people to deserve treason?"

"Oh, my people are _just fine_. Growing fat and lazy, deep in the core territory of the Eighteen Stars of the Scorpion. No. It's us traders who have to suffer for their arrogance. Their 'big picture'." He scoffed, rubbing his orange eyes. "Do you know who they let do all the patrolling? Supremacists. The faction who lost the legendary Last Celestial Civil War, in charge of the active military. And these people don't care a _damn_ about some _insignificant insect_ like an honest Feratian trader. Lost my whole freight because of a pirate attack. Where was the Patrol? 'Refit'. If you ask me, the Seven can go all the way to hell for all I care!"

The Doctor frowned suddenly and scoffed with disappointment, remembering the files. "Oh, that one. Now I know why Master Illarion called you _demashon_ – a total and lifetime-wasting fool. And now you've added slander to your crimes. You were never honest. I can imagine the Imperial Patrol thought they would finally get rid of you that way, but you survived. Born a smuggler, lived a smuggler. Do you want to die as one too?"

"If it means freedom and revenge, yes!"

"I give you one last chance. Stop this madness, give up the shipment and turn in the Uvris. I can get you away from here. Anywhere, any time," he tried again.

"Oh, I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

The Doctor shot his mother a look, who nodded, and reached for Martha's hand. "Then, in fairness, let me give you one good piece of advice: _Run_."

Just after his mother sent a message to the Market Authority, a group of twenty guards teleported in, hovering over the building, all of them the wings out. "_Leave the Assian and the Children of Gallifrey alone. Imperial warrant,"_ the leader, a short woman with ruby-red spiky hair ordered. Her whole appearance gave her the air of a chilli pepper, explosive and fiery. "_I want prisoners, so no dead, and leave the place intact until we have the Uvris captain_." Waving a hand, she surrounded the building with a ring of green fire.

"_Yes Lord Reneael!"_ the group responded, dropping in like living bombs.

What followed, was a chaos of running, flying energy balls of various elements, broken bones and, for the three time travellers, adrenaline in abundance. Once, Martha thought she'd get hit by one of the energy balls for sure – and then it was bent _around_ her, putting the smuggler behind her out of commission. "These people are insane!"

"They're led by a pureblood, _Fire-element_ Power, what do you expect?" the Doctor called back, finally managing to get them outside… only to run into said Power. "Oh."

"It must have been 2000 years since I last saw a Child of Gallifrey who's not Valeyard or CIA, and about 300 since I've been to Assiah," the woman remarked, parting the wall of fire as if it was a curtain. "I am Reneael, Market Authority Strike Group Captain, and with whom do I have the honour?" She extinguished the flames.

"I'm the Doctor, this is Martha Jones and…"

"Professor, it's been a while," Reneael bowed.

"Meeting you means trouble, _Leirana_, so forgive me, but it is 20 years too soon to see you professionally."

"Fair enough."

Just then, Reneael's lieutenant brought in the last of the smugglers, bound in heavy chains, and dumped him in front of his master. "_Leirana_."

"_Well done. Set the trap for the pirates, we will finally cut off the head of this pest_."

"_Yes Leirana._"

The Doctor leaned over to Martha and muttered, "I told him to run but they never listen."

Reneael shook her head, her sharp hearing having overheard the remark. "Feratians are one thing, Doctor, and that's being more arrogant than supremacists."

"_**Oi**_!" it sounded from the guard collective.

"Seriously. Anyone else would already have surrendered when we teleported in," Reneael sighed. "Want to see the end of the show?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No thank you. I know enough about your people to know why the supremacists have _not_ been eradicated all these billions of years ago. They are the blunt yet sharp tool of the council – logical, efficient, obedient and ruthless. They won't hesitate at a death warrant, and a kill on sight. It's the only way to live out their arrogance these days." He turned away from the redhead. "I won't interfere with your methods, but… I have seen enough death to last one of _your_ lifetimes."

To his surprise, Reneael held him by the shoulder. "Being lost is never easy, keeper of time. But don't fret, don't give up, and you will find it again. Also, the only one who has a death warrant on him is the actual Uvris Captain. Everyone else is just facing life in prison." She let him go. "Go. I think you will need some _time_."

He nodded numbly. "Fair enough. _Stars bright on you_."

"_Friends to thee forever_," the Guard Captain nodded, bowing with the palms up in front.

An hour later, the Doctor, the Professor and Martha were back in Illarion's office, harrowed, where the Seraphim dealt out tea and zyle'ta cookies. "I hope Renata-janara didn't scare you too much."

"You _know_ that red-headed menace?" Martha managed to say.

Illarion snickered. "You could say that. I'm her consort."

"Oh my god, I'm –"

"Don't apologise, Miss. Renata is a Power – calling her a menace is a compliment as much as calling me, a Seraphim, a siren," he chuckled. "I must say, you did this quite beautifully; my agents state that only the Uvris captain met a fate not forged in Ditanium. The rest is off to Palikpetha to freeze off various body parts."

"Palikpetha?" Martha shot the Doctor a glance.

"Prison world. It's basically a barely inhabitable ice cube on the edge of nowhere, and, ironically enough, a Ditanium mine," he mused. "I take it the Uvris Combine won't be a problem for a long time?"

"All but extinct or imprisoned. There are always those who won't take no for an answer," the infomerchant answered. "Now. Business. I promised something, and as Seraphim, I am bound by my word. Milady Professor." In a dramatic gesture, Illarion opened his wings, and offered his hands, forearms crossed, which the woman accepted in the same solemn manner. (Where Time Lords were pompous asses and held forth with long-winding speeches, Antarians were overly dramatic maniacs and had a sense of overkill.) "_Thou hast spoken plainly in thought, word and action, and it thus shalt be known that thou art friend of mine to all of reality_," he intoned in his own language, words the Doctor translated quietly under his breath.

"_Long beyond the day all the stars go out_, Captain," the Professor answered in Gallifreyan. "Long beyond the days all the stars go out… old friend."

Just then, their hands glowed briefly. Recognizing the rite, the Doctor spoke up. "As it is witnessed among the Seven and the Eighteen and all the universes and galaxies, you shall be known as friends. As it is witnessed by the moons and stars of the Scorpion and of Kasterborous, your friendship shall never wane."

After that, both parties let go, the Professor shaking her hands. "Lightning elementals always leave my hands numb."

Illarion laughed. "Can't be helped. Anyway. You wanted information? Here's your information…" Immediately, he turned a bit more sombre again as he handed over a crystal slab. "Joke is, it's not really classified… but you would have needed to ask for a copy in _court_. And it's really weird too… look at that seal."

The Professor was shocked. "No way…"

Impatient, the Doctor took it from his mother, but as his eyes came in contact with the aforementioned seal, his eyes took the size of the proverbial saucers. "That's… the seal of the Great Seven."

"Specifically, the seal of ALL the Great Seven. It comes with a unified vision, discovery… or unanimous vote, which is why normally, it's a war-time thing. And the real laugh is still coming," Illarion sighed. "You three… yes, you too, Miss Jones… have attracted a Grand Fate. You make history _move_, for now. And thus, it was all three reasons for that seal. But the scary part is the beginning of the prophecy… it's the same as the poem of the Memorial Keeper."

"Memorial Keeper?"

"Time War Memorial? Eye of Orion? Ring a bell?"

The two Chronarchs nodded numbly. The Doctor turned his eyes aside. "Not our favourite place. I have never read the poem before. Feel free to dramatise, Space-Weaver."

Illarion cleared his throat, took the slab back and started to recite the English translation, his voice weaving it into a musical cadence. "_Between all the stars, Gallifrey sleeps./ Across the stars, all of time weeps./ The Rescuer and The Learned Man, Lords of Time, Lost Children of Gallifrey, Chosen Ones./ Blue grass, Reunion, Meeting out of Time./ Friend, enemy, bitter rival, the word is mighty./ Assiah's child walks Time's wild./ Child of Assiah, Child of Assiah no longer, Walking Maiden, Child of Gallifrey, Chosen One./ Forgotten friend's return, Saviour of All of Creation, Sister, Explorer, Chosen One./ Chosen Ones, steal the Sleeping World, save All of Time, save the Everything and Nothing Man, complete the Circle./ The Sleeping World, born from ashes, balance./ Time and Space, back to Harmony._" He huffed in exasperation. "I wish they would stop letting High Sovereign Kaletiel making the announcements. Hers tend not to make much sense until you _lived_ through the whole ordeal, not even in High Antarian unless you _hear her _making them. Just one thing is clear. You all three were marked as _Yemassina_ – Fate's Champions. And apparently, you are going to be joined by another…" He gave the slab back to the Professor. "What you are doing right now, my friend, is exactly what you're supposed to do… and yes, you both were not _meant _to meet earlier." Illarion looked from one to the next. "In my humble opinion, I don't think neither one of you were really ready for that."

The Doctor opened his mouth to protest – and stopped. After the war, his mindset had been just three tea cups short of suicidal, until he… well, no point in denying it when _Janayi_ was around. Until he got himself an overdose of pink, blonde, strawberries and cream, and now, he was moping because the main reason to be silly wasn't around anymore… And within 30 hours, his mother had cut through all his excuses and made him face the mirror, including him being not _ready_ yet. "I hate to say it, _janayitrita_, but I don't think I would have been able to take in your presence after the war. You're… Well, at times, you're a bit too much for even me to handle and I'm your son. The whole of the house, in one person. Though sometimes I can't even handle myself so I guess it runs in the family."

"Wasn't in my right mind either, _taruelai_. It was too loud – and then, it was too silent…" Stopping herself from dwelling, the Professor took another biscuit. "And about running in the family, try the whole chapter." Noticing Martha's unease, she turned to the young woman. "Are you alright?"

"What role do I play in this?" she whispered.

"Can't say for certain," Illarion admitted. "But what I can tell is that you are going to be _stellar_. The description – your fate is truly something big, Miss Jones…" He looked to the side. "I would prefer to speak to you alone for a moment."

"Err…"

"Free services are rare on this world, Martha Jones," the Professor remarked.

"Okay then. Where…"

He waved behind himself. "Inner office."

* * *

Illarion's inner office was a curious mix of filing cabinets and apparently a traditional seating area – a low platform covered with something akin to tatami mats and a low table, surrounded by cushions. The whole thing of seating platforms had been a mild curiosity in the beginning to Martha, until she had seen an Antarian unleashing her wings while being seated. "Chairs are not really your people's thing, are they?"

"Only for ceremonial occasions, space travel and long time behind a desk. Or with _really low_ backrests," he answered. "I do not mean to pry, but… the prophecy and your emotions, they go together… I am sorry. Please do not take this as an offence, but I wish to help."

"What's going on?"

"My people are telepaths and empaths among many other things. I admit, I am not very good at this, but you have been projecting your emotions to anyone who cares to look or listen," he explained, the cheeks blushing blue like his blood.

Martha blushed. "I… Oh my God. Am I really that obvious?"

"Only to about 4% of the galactic population." His whole expression darkened. "That man is like my people, a force of nature, blowing into lives like a hurricane, and leaving debris. But he is out of sync, troubled and blind with grief, so he will not be able to truly take people along for the ride." Shaking the metallic strands, his hair rustled like thick tinsel, the countenance clearing up like a cloudy sky as he switched gears. "I am a Seraphim, and thus, I have a thing for destiny, and becoming so ridiculously happy and satisfied with life it's unhealthy. And what's worse… well, I want to share that, make other people as complete as I am. So. You are in love. Hopelessly, seriously, head-over-heels in love, but not knowing what the package deal entails, at least not fully. But even the strongest person can take only so much…"  
He paused, taking in a feel for Martha, the hands stretched out, the eyes glowing slightly as he shifted to multi-planar sight, taking in her realities. "But as I said, you are not alone with issues in this dysfunctional relationship. I do not know the details, but he's lost someone recently, and in a horrible way – she might as well be dead, although she isn't. And he's the kind of person to blame himself, and blind himself with grief."

Martha was shocked. "What are you trying to say?"

"He's hurting. Pushing you away so he can't be hurt more than he already is, despite you being what he _needs_ in the long run. Fighting his own conflicting feelings, running away," Illarion answered. "If you are serious in choosing him however…"

"What?"

"I may have some wisdom for you, but… you must be sure of your choice."

"Advice? I don't know…"

"Who do you think is older, the Professor or I?"

"The…" She stopped, remembering the Grigori Master Taleth, 33.764 years old, and looking not a day over 35. These people didn't age externally – they ran out of _lifetime_, which could even be sold and purchased on this world as an energy form (that alone had been an experience, watching an Antarian healer buying lifetime, meaning some never lived the millennia of their race!), so it was entirely possible Illarion was older than the Professor. "I don't know actually."

"Good answer. But, in fairness, you were going to be right, I am younger than her. Way younger. 8.831 standard years to be precise. But if it comes to love, I may be a wee bit more experienced than her."

"Really?"

"My people make a big deal out of love. More so than Gallifreyans did in the waning days of the Silvery White Light Age, at least in general. I have a cousin who's 3.001 and a principality, and she's still single. Can't find someone to share all of eternity with," he shrugged. "Of course, that doesn't count for the Doctor's clan, they're downright… oh. I get it."

"What now?"

"Tell me. If you would have been brought up to love everything with all you are – family, friends, loves – and taught to sacrifice yourself for them in the end, wouldn't that make you vulnerable, and ultimately, terribly guarded?"

"Oh my god. That's what the Doctor is like?"

"Yes. And so, my answer is the same as the way I've managed to get married. I've pursued that menace of a woman for 500 years – equivalent to about two to three human years. She was the same as him, having lived through terrible things people shouldn't see. But I was gentle and steadfast in my goal, never giving up. At times, it hurt like hell – she didn't see me, or when she did, she ignored my feelings on purpose. But I _didn't give up_. People like Renata or the Doctor… to gain their attention, you need patience." He smiled mysteriously. "Besides, I think you will find you have gained a few unlikely allies by now."

Martha frowned. "I don't see anyone."

"Do you really think that either his mother or his TARDIS like it what he's doing to you?" he grinned. "They're women too. Anyway. In a nutshell, you need to be a bit patient with him, and also _yourself_. It _will_ be worth it. Oh, so worth it." The face he now made was exactly what he had mentioned earlier, a picture of a man who was so happy and content with his life it was downright ridiculous.

The young medical student's heart raced as her mind put all the Seraphim's clues and advice together. "Are you telling me to not give up on him?"

"As much as it is troublesome and painful, yes. As I said, I am lousy at precognition, but even I can see the end of your roads. Keep loving, keep hoping, and you will be rewarded, Miss Martha Jones," he answered, a reassuring smile on his face.

Martha didn't know if it was the words he said, the experiences he shared, or just his voice (she didn't count it out since he was, well, an Angel), but for some reason, there was another flame lit in her heart, smaller than that of the initial passion she'd had for the Doctor, but steadier than it all the same. _Hope_. "Thank you." She accepted the hand and followed him back to the main office.

There, the Professor thanked him in the fashion of a _friend_ and turned to the door. "As it is custom, if you ever need anything."

Illarion smirked at the trio. "I'll scream into the planes, don't worry. Stars bright on you."

"All skies friends to thee forever," she answered, bowing.

Just as the Doctor tried to pass the purple-eyed warrior, he was held back. "A piece of advice, Child of Gallifrey, in the form of a saying from your favourite planet: _You can't always get what you want… but sometimes, you might find you get what you need_," he whispered into his ear. "Past is past. Live for the present and the future, or you will stay lost, you get me?"

Hearing the warning in the tone, he nodded slowly. "I know…" he looked at the two females walking ahead. "Thankfully now I have the means to keep myself anchored."

"Depends on if you plan on staying a pompous ass, Time Lord," Illarion muttered. "I may be a typical Antarian large ham, but I would never walk over someone like that on purpose. _Open your eyes, open your mind, proud like a god, don't pretend to be blind. Trapped in yourself, break out instead; beat the machine that works in your head_. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, you only end up feeling _sorrier_. And if that doesn't help: You're Lungbarrow, one who makes old into new. Try it, it might surprise you."

He smiled. "Well, I always do love surprises." The Time Lord held out his hands and bowed. "Thanks Captain Illarion. Stars bright on you."

"And all skies friends to thee forever, Doctor," he returned the gesture. "Good luck."

* * *

At the end of a week, after a severely relaxing last day of pampering – professional hosts had a thing for living out their drama by overdoing their pleasing of the guests (in anything but the horizontal), and Aldurathiel was no exception – the three travellers stood in front of the Doctor's TARDIS. "Well then. _Molto bene_," he smiled as he let them back in.

"I can't remember when I've ever been that relaxed in my life," Martha admitted.

"I've seen a lot of things in my life, but I still always feel like molten butter when I visit the shop of a master host," the Professor grinned. "Only the Palace hosts are better."

"Why are they called hosts anyway?"

"Being a party host is a job on Antares. It's not something you do yourself. It's a bit like a Japanese Geisha. An entertainer. Only that they can not just do Smalltalk, dance and sing, they can also cook, give massages, serve you in the group bath and occasionally tailor. If you hold a party, your choice in host reflects on your status and education – poor choice and you're no good," the Doctor explained. "Some of them prefer however not to do the whole in-house thing, but have a shop instead. You can either just do the whole pampering thing, or rent the place for a party." As he turned around, he noticed finally that his mother had taken no notice of his speech, and had commandeered his pilot's chair instead. "I seem to remember you have your own TARDIS." Not listening, the woman crawled under the console, installing something. "What are you doing–"

"Avatar and Telepathy Booster module. She wanted to be able to talk to your companions, you know," she muttered, fusing the devices into the console wiring. "Can't do anything about it needing six pilots, but at least the wacky communication I can fix."

_I take offence to that_, the TARDIS called jokingly, causing Martha to jump. _It is good to be able to speak to you, my Martha_.

_Same here._"I can hear her! I can really hear her!" she grinned, touched by the way the sentient ship addressed her.

The Professor got back to her feet, brushing herself off. "Then my job is nearly done. But first, we need to go somewhere."

A little bewildered, he came to her side, and at seeing the coordinates, his eyes widened. "You are not taking us there, are you?"

"Where better? Besides, I think she might like to see what Time Lords do to their true _names_."

Conceding defeat, he took the co-pilot's seat, and began takeoff procedures with her, finally pulling the handbrake. Seconds later, as it was only a change of location, they stopped, and the Doctor put the brake back into place. "Martha. What you are about to see, not many humans have seen up close like that." Putting on his coat again, he opened the outer doors of the TARDIS.

The TARDIS floated in the middle of a stellar cloud, multi-coloured (mostly blue and white) stardust and young stars around them, glittering like water.

"Welcome to the Medusa Cascade Open Star Cluster, one of the last of its kind that close to the galactic core of the Milky Way," the Professor intoned, closing the clasp of her own coat. "At least, that's what it is to most people of the universe."

"It's beautiful," Martha breathed. "And what is it to the two of you?"

"Lungbarrow House clan register. The actual one," the Doctor finished, chuckling. "As my mother has explained to you earlier, Time Lords keep their birth name hidden. And this is the way we do it – we write it on the stars, hidden away from eyes not of blood and name. Kind of ironic – we're the Time-Weavers and write our real names onto _space_, and the World-Makers go and write their full names onto _time_. When you reach adulthood as a Gallifreyan, your Head of House would take you to such a place, so you could _seal_ your name away, and declare your title-name to the universe."

"So all your family's names are hidden here, in all these stars and stardust?" Martha pointed at the seemingly random constellations. As she looked on, she could almost make out the shapes of Circular Gallifreyan etched into them, even if they were just gibberish to her.

"Pretty much. Why are we here, _janayitrita_?"

"Our bond is lost. I think the War cut us apart. So, I want to re-establish it," she answered. "I haven't been here in a while. They're too many."

The Doctor bowed his head. "Same here. Can't look at it, as much as I want to," he whispered, gratefully accepting the comforting hand of Martha on his upper arm. He took a sharp breath in as he suddenly felt his mother's fingers at his temples, and returned the gesture almost automatically.

"_You are of me, I gave birth to you, gave you life. You are of my name, and of my blood. You are my son, and my beloved heir_," she spoke, both into his mind (in Gallifreyan) and aloud (in English). "_You are the Doctor, child of Lungbarrow of the Hills and scion of Prydon, my son and my taruelai larenessharranue._"

Breathing hard at the surge of love she sent him, he started his answer. The words of his heir ceremony so long ago. "_I am of you, you are mother of mine, gave life and soul to me. I am of your name and blood. You are mother of me and my clan, and I am honoured to be your son_," he intoned, in the very same manner as her. "_You are the Professor, the Law of Gallifrey, Head of the House of Lungbarrow of the Hills and scion of Prydon; my hero, my Janayitritariene Issharranue_."

Just then, their fingertips glowed for a moment, and… "Oh my god… the stars…" Martha whispered. Out of the stardust, just for a few seconds, two sets of stars and gas lines seemed to flash up, both in Circular Gallifreyan, before they disappeared from plain view again. "Were that…"

"Our names, yes. This place always knows when one of ours is here," the Professor stated softly, an arm around her son.

Shaking off his shock, he smiled, a little melancholic, but still… "I think we should get going."

"Yeah."

* * *

It was almost anti-climatically fitting as the two TARDISes stood a day later in a field of blue grass, a blue sun in a purple sky watching over the two time and space vessels. Inside the blue box, the Doctor was very hard-pressed not to gnaw his fingernails or dance a tarantella as his mother upgraded and fine-tuned a few settings on his TARDIS. "I have no idea why you are so insistent on upgrading my Chameleon Arch. Not like I ever used it."

"I'm a Healer _Geneticist_. This is what I do. Also, the programmed possible histories in yours don't include a general background for companions and the likes," she grumbled, working under the grating of the console. "I would ask a question, but I know why she never got the upgrade – it's for the same reason you have each other in the first place."

"Well…" Reaching down, he helped her out of the maintenance space, and replaced the grating. "I guess so. Anything else?"

"I think your TARDIS has a question."

_I can't decide on an Avatar. The possibilities are endless!_ the ship answered, sounding like a woman on winter sale.

"And I thought choosing desktop themes was already a hassle to you. Look what you did, Janayitrita," he half-complained. "You confused my TARDIS!"

The Professor smirked. "A suggestion, beautiful… ask Martha. Besides, you can change it as you see fit."

_If you would help me, my Martha, I would be honoured_.

"It will be my pleasure."

As the sun set over 21st century Zoresh, the Doctor and the Professor stood in between the two TARDISes. "Do you really have to go?" he asked, Martha directly behind him.

As an answer, the Professor held a slab datapad and a small key crystal out to her son. "Headcount board. Corrected it after finding you. That way, you can see how I am doing," she smiled. "The key contains a program which allows you to contact me, and, if you two are in for something too deep, sends a signal to me."

"You don't have to…" The face she made stopped him mid-sentence. "Right. I'm my mother's son. Stupid thing to say."

"If there's one thing that every bearer of our name is, it's trouble-prone," she finished. "So."

"So." He suppressed a tremble, but just barely, as his hands were still shaking. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer, and hugged her with all his might, clinging to her. _Janayi_…

_Like a little boy afraid to let his mummy go to war_, it shot through Martha's mind. _And it's not that different, is it? How many times has she waltzed off like this to hunt down errant Time Lords? And she's not doing any better – she said it herself, he's too much like her, trouble on two legs._

The Professor closed her eyes, the soul shaking like being eye in eye with a black hole. But, she was his _mother_ in the end, and so, she took him by surprise as she pressed a kiss to his forehead before stepping back to her TARDIS. "May Time's hand rest kind on you, _taruelai_."

Choking, he gave back the traditional answer. "And history remember you with love. _Janayi_…"

"See you, Doctor."

The hands still trembling, he and Martha took their places in the open door of his. "See you soon. Professor."

Doors closed. Seconds and grinding and whooshing later, the field was empty.

* * *

**AN: I don't own Grandia II, and I still borrowed the names of the Ages from it. Golden Age – time of peace and prosperity, Silver White Light Age – Era of the Wars in Heaven in here. The idea to the Professor's agelessness courtesy of Jerome Bixby's **_**The Man From Earth**_**.**


	2. One: Son of an Adventurer – Human Nature

**AN: The idea with the masking spray I got from LizzeXX's story "Recuperation". I thank every author here on FFN who thinks that Human Nature and Family of Blood is a good place to shift the Doctor's attention to Martha. So, without further ado: Allons-y!**

**Reviews are appreciated.  
**

* * *

**One: Son of an Adventurer - Human Nature**

"_Homo est. Humani nihil a se alienum putat." (He is human. He believes that nothing human is alien to him.) – Cicero_

Drifting again in the Time Vortex, Martha used the non-time for reading that crystal book on Gallifreyan physiology the Professor had given her, but ever since they had parted ways with the ageless Time Lady, the Doctor's behaviour was off. And by that, it was not his usual 'I am suffering but I pretend to be fine' routine, nor 'You are not Rose', but 'I am bothered by something and I don't know what to do'. Ever since the talk in New-New York, she had become progressively better on reading the Time Lord. He would alternatively shuffle between his room, the Library, annoying the TARDIS with (unnecessary) maintenance and the kitchen, usually lost in thought. Finally, she had enough. "Where is he now?"

_In his room, my Martha_, the TARDIS answered. _Cheer him up, will you? He's sulking._

Turning off the carbonite (hyper-condensed _diamond_, really) crystal book, she snuck to the Time Lord's room. Well, she supposed it was his, as it was the room the Professor had carried him to a few days ago, but she'd never _in_ it before. The room was… different. It was chaotic yet tidy, the surfaces covered with books, gadgets and trinkets; the walls were covered with space photographs and maps, and an enormous, elaborately carved four-poster bed dominated the space. A staircase led to a balcony overhead, which held a small study. Two doors below it led to what she guessed a walk-in closet and a bathroom.

"Up here, Martha. She won't let it be anyway," he sighed, calling her up.

She took the stairs, and couldn't help but gasp as she saw what the Doctor stared at. "That's …"

"Family portrait," he answered simply. "The main line primary generations of the Most Ancient and Most Exalted House Lungbarrow of the Hills by the beginning of the Last Great Time War."

It was a life-size painting of an obviously happily married couple, the Doctor and another man standing beside the woman, all dressed in what she assumed to be Gallifreyan clothes. The Professor's clothes were the closest to Earth clothing, being black trousers, an elaborate knee-long white jacket with blue and black trimmings and a standing collar. A complicated series of straps and clasps held it closed, making it look like she likely needed help to put it on properly, all covered by a scarlet, orange-lined robe. The style was related to her work or her age probably. The man at her side was dressed in a complicated long robe in scarlet with silver trimmings, and had an enigmatic smirk on his face, a style and smirk copied by the other man on the painting. The Doctor himself was dressed into a double-layered robe, the colour scheme of the Professor's jacket evident in the inner one while the outer was the same as his mother's. It clicked. "You really did have a brother."

"As I said. Not any more."

"Is that your father? What did people call him?" she asked gently, taking the stool beside him.

He looked up at the man, a fond smile playing around his lips. "The Keeper. He was born a Scaltata, the brilliant ones. A great healer, and occasionally, my mother's lab partner… My brother… he was his father's son. Brilliant, creative and _inspired_. Funny how things turn out. I failed the TARDIS exam twice, and ended up being 'just' a Temporal Engineer, he, the younger, passes with flying colours, and becomes a TARDIS constructor." His eyes were fixed on the painting, the mind far away in the past.

"You're your mother's son. God. I haven't said it then, but she's _beautiful_."

"Considered one of the most amazing women ever born on Gallifrey. And even more remarkable considering she's never regenerated before. Ever. Together, my father and her… they were unstoppable."

"There it is again. 'Regeneration.' The Professor mentioned that word too. What exactly does that mean?" She frowned. "Is that the process you wanted to tell me about on the SS Pentallian?"

"Yes. Well… It's kinda a Time Lord's 'get out of death free' card with twelve valid slots, apparently by law. If I am about to I die I change instead. The cells in my body are replaced, one by one to repair the damage. Can be any height, weight, age… gender if I really screw up…"

"Wait, wait, wait," Martha cut the Doctor off. "Are you saying you don't die, you just get a whole new body?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Well, it's kind of like that… but not really. The change also affects my brain, neural synapses get altered and such… some mannerisms and taste changes, but essentially, I'm still the same person. Well, in theory, I change until I reach a form which suits my 'inner self' so to speak best. The skin you are most comfortable in, then, you only replace it with a new copy. It is possible to control what one becomes like and looks like. Problem is, I'm lousy at it. Also, the way and reasons why you die play in as a factor." He nodded at the painting. "That painting was done by a relative, a cousin who was Scaltata. He doused it with enough Artron and Chronon energy to make it change whenever one of the depicted regenerated."

"So that's what she meant with thirteen lives by law. How many times have you done that so far?"

"This is my 10th version, I've regenerated nine times so far. A bit much for my age, but then again, I am…" he sighed. "I am my mother's son. In everything." His face was dark, still. Wistful memories of peacetime, longing etched into every angle of his stance, followed by that haunted look associated with the war. "They burnt you know. They were not even fighting in the war, and still, they burnt with the rest. I couldn't bear it, locked down my mind."

_Better steer him away from that_. "How did this portrait come to be?"

At that, his expression lit up a little. "My mother, for all her sternness, all her harsh upbringing as heiress, all her righteous pride as Head of House, is a fricking, old-fashioned romantic. Had one portrait made every 100 years, on top of this changing one."

"So there were ten of them?"

"No. Only nine. It would have…" He turned away, the voice breaking.

Stopping him, she put her hand on top of his. "Tell me of your family. The way you _ought_ to remember. Your land, the people."

Taking a few quick breaths, he forced himself to calm down, remembering brighter times. "Lungbarrow House had many epitaphs, some alluding to its age, others to heritage, but the most telling ones were House of Masks, House of Traitors, for we betrayed the ancient Pythia and followed Rassilon, the founder of Time Lord society. The masks… well, it's partially the reason I always stood outside. Our family was _different_. The whole stuffed shirt behaviour of everyone else outside, to us, it was a _mask_, worn when being around non-Lungbarrow. I was just the odd one out who never learnt how to mask his _otherness_, and paid for it. But it was an open secret we were different – Lungbarrow House was built into the cliffside of Lung Mountain in high defiance for all to see. In the southern mountain range, overlooking Cadonflood River. Basically, on the _backside_ of the Citadel." He grinned, looking at the portrait. "Oh, it was the very stone-turned declaration of the chapter's deviousness and defiance. They used to say to never take your eyes off a Prydonian, especially a Lungbarrow or Scaltata. The former would laugh at you, the latter do something to make you look ridiculous. You should have seen it, that old house in the cliffs and hills… I remember laughter in the halls. Jokes and outrageous tricks by my cousins… the tea garden, with my cousin yelling at my brother and me when we stormed through it…"

1

Hours later, Martha lay on her bed, the mind buzzing with vivid images of red grass-covered hills, perpetually snow-capped mountains and outrageous anecdotes of a clan of trickster-protectors, and a feeling of melancholy. _They are really all gone?_

_We often wish it was not like this._ The TARDIS hummed sadly. _For all our restlessness, it was still __home__, origin, root to us._

A thought came to Martha. _Has he ever spoken to Rose about them?_

_Rose?_ The sentient ship sent her something akin to a scoff crossed with a sigh. _Rose was a girl with starry eyes who managed to get the 9th Doctor to feel alive again. But she never even asked him what species we are. It came out in an argument. She also never knew the name of __home__._

_She had him _avoid _his memories? How were they ever able to have a proper conversation then?_ Martha sighed. _I can see why she did it, it makes it easier, but in the end, all one does is pretending. That's comforting in the beginning, but it doesn't make one better in the long run._

_It certainly isn't. She was what an angry, damaged Doctor born in blood and battle needed, but the current one needs someone who can keep up with him when he runs to save everything. Someone like you, my Martha_.

The feeling of praise the TARDIS sent her left the young woman blushing. _Thanks_.

* * *

_Just one more month, one more and it's over. I hate this! And it doesn't help that he's… fancying me! I sometimes doubt I can make him open that watch!_ Dressed into a simple dress, Martha knocked on one "J. Smith"'s door, being followed by a maid she had befriended, Jenny, who carried the tray with the breakfast.

"Come in," the occupant called.

Martha opened the door, stumbling back at seeing the human version of the Doctor – John Smith – still dressed in nothing but his pyjamas. "Pardon me, John, you're not dressed yet."

Waving her off, he reached for his robe. "No, it's fine. Put it down, Jenny."

The maid left the tray on the desk, poured tea for two, pulled the curtains open and hushed out.

Sitting down in front of him, Martha began to butter the toast – compared to the active and hyper Doctor, John was no morning person, and managed to butter one side of the toast while putting the marmalade on the other. On top of that, the longer he stayed 'human', the more absent-minded he became. Like now. "Having these dreams again?"

John shook his head, trying to get rid of the sleepy notions. And the more sinful thoughts concerning his childhood friend/secretary. "Yes. I just cannot seem to shake them."

"What did you dream today?" she asked, handing him the finished toast.

Nodding his thanks, he told her of how she was his companion, how they were from the future, how he was a man from another world, how his mother was this larger-than-life hero. What he didn't tell, were the feelings the man he was in his dreams had for her – including a huge case of denial. _Denial ain't a river in Egypt_… _where did that one come from?_ John was particularly grateful that Martha seemed focussed on getting their tea right – he was desperately fighting a blush.

"John, as far as I know, you're completely human. Besides, look at the paper." She held up the Times, trying to keep up the facade. "It's Monday, the 14th of November, 1913. Now, your tea is getting cold, and you know your mother will have _both_ our heads if you don't eat properly."

John gave up, blushing like a ripe tomato, and practically dove into his teacup. "Thanks Martha. I don't know where I would be without you."

"Drowning in paper, no doubt," she joked, causing both of them to laugh. "Now eat up, you have a class in an hour."

"You really are my mother's student, always giving orders," he grumbled under his breath, taking a bite of his toast.

1

John loved teaching in general, but he knew that the boys loved to exploit his kindness (he never resolved to beating, preferring to be creative about punishments) and his absent-minded manner. And ever since coming to Farringham and having these dreams, the latter got worse by the second. Especially every time he thought about Martha. Or thought about what that Doctor from his dreams thought about Martha. Snickers shook him from his musings, and he glared at the class, starting the lesson. _Great. Now the pupils are going to make fun of me all day_.

1

After a joking chat with Jenny (and running into the most arrogant git of a prefect she'd ever met), Martha rushed to the TARDIS, the key under her shirt being hot to the touch. "What the hell was that for?"

Just then, in a soft *whoosh*, the Professor's TARDIS materialised in the console room, and her pilot stuck her head out of the (black) door. "Hi. Can you tell me why in the Nine Hells she sent me a distress signal?"

"No idea." Martha looked around the room, the eyes going up to the Chameleon Arch, memories from that horrid day filling her head.

(Flashback)  
It was, again, supposed to be a simple "oh-look-new-planet" trip, but on it, they had first run into a local infomerchant who warned them of a coming danger, and then run into the actual danger – the Family of Blood. A group of gaseous beings with mayfly-like lifespans, and they were after the Doctor, the only widely _known_ surviving Time Lord, and his lifecycle. Which meant they were running for their lives. Again. This time, shooting included. "Get down!" the Doctor yelled as they ran into the TARDIS, both narrowly avoiding being shot as he closed the door. As Martha helped him up, he asked, "Did they see you?!"

"I don't know!" she answered.

"But did they see you?!"

"I was too busy running!"

"Martha, it's important, _did they see your face_?" The urgency was in every syllable he spoke.

"No, they couldn't have."

Getting to his feet, he threw away his coat and pulled the handbrake. "Off we go." An alert sounded immediately. "Argh! They're following us."

"How can they do that? The TARDIS goes through time _and_ space!"

"Stolen technology. They got a Time Agent's vortex manipulator wired into their ship," he explained, setting the controls to bouncing around. "They can follow us wherever we go. Right across the universe." He pushed his hand through his already chaotic hair. "They're never going to stop," he realised, horrified at all the implications. _Kill them, be killed… running is out of option_… _hiding?_ "Unless. I'll have to do it. Martha, you trust me, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" He confused her.

"Because it all depends on you," he continued, pulling a fob watch out of a compartment of the TARDIS console, showing it to Martha. Its surface was covered with elaborate engravings in Circular Gallifreyan. "Take this watch, because my life depends on it. This watch, Martha. This watch is me."

More confused, she took it from him. "Right, okay, gotcha. No, hold on. Completely lost."

"Those creatures are hunters. They can sniff out anyone, and me being a Time Lord, well, I'm nearly unique. They can track me down across the whole of time and space."

"Shouldn't we warn your mother then?"

"Already done," he answered, sending off a written message through the key. "Even if they manage to sniff someone out who smells like all of history, she's currently in the White Space, and you can't go there without a Time Eater Key."

"Okay, so she's safe. And the good news is?"

Pushing buttons and pulling levers, he continued. "They can smell me, they haven't seen me. And their lifespan will be running out, so we hide. Wait for them to die."

"But they can track us down."

He stopped his frantic movements and faced her, a mix of fear and apology airing around him, the eyes wide. "That's why I've got to do it. I have to stop being a Time Lord. I'm going to become human." Pulling another lever, he let the TARDIS lower a headset-like device from the ceiling. "Never thought I'd use this. All the times I've wondered."

"What is it and what does it do?"

"_That's_ the Chameleon Arch. Rewrites my biology. Literally changes every single cell in my body. I've set it to human." He took the watch from her, inserting it into the slot on the front. "Now, the TARDIS will take care of everything. Invent a life story for me, find me a setting and integrate me. Since my mother upgraded it, it will provide me with a story for your presence in my life, so you should be fine. Same goes for her. TARDIS will call her in case of an emergency."

"But, hold on. If you're going to rewrite every single cell, isn't it going to hurt?" Martha frowned.

He looked at her, the face in a mask of ill anticipation. "Oh yeah. It hurts."  
(End flashback)

Martha shook her head, trying to get rid of the memory of the Time Lord's agonizing screams as he had been drained of everything that made him a Child of Gallifrey. "I never want to see that again."

"Did that two times," the Professor answered the unspoken question, having switched to the console to check the story. "Had to blend in. And every time I felt hollow while being something else. We're way too used to feel _Time_. I bet he does so too." She shook her head. "Not bad, but not good either. I have a feeling you're here for some odd reason. You're his secretary?"

"Yeah. And you are apparently some adventurer and book writer called Verity Smith. That warrants a question. When I was a teen, I did read _Tales of the Sky_, all three volumes. Which is probably why I am also his childhood friend and your student."

"I did write those. Centuries ago. Wanted to see that planet my son and the Antarians are so fascinated with, and I must say, it was so worth it," she grinned shortly, and then turned sombre again. "Well, whatever is happening, it warrants calling me out of White Space."

"What about your scent? You're a Time Lady, what if they're lurking around and get a whiff of you?"

"Got that covered." She pulled out a small spraying can, covered with Antarian letters. "My son is an explorer, an observer. He never had to hide or hunt down someone, but I have had to. Illarion gave it to me. It nullifies my presence as a Gallifreyan, and covers it with 51st century human. Can't get much closer in scent to human."

She nodded, then gestured at the woman's Valeyard uniform, white jacket and black trousers. "It's 1913. You would need to change clothes. And what about your TARDIS energy signature?"

"Right." Picking up the can, she walked back into her own TARDIS, followed by Martha, and ended up in her wardrobe room. "My TARDIS is 'cloaked' right now, but before I leave, I'll put her on standby too, just to be sure. What about this one?" It was a simple dress made of sand-coloured heavy cotton, which, in concession to the woman's personal/Gallifreyan style, had a low standing collar trimmed in black, and pockets which were probably bigger on the inside.

"That should do nicely."

Spraying herself with the scent-coverer (which smelt disgusting first, but then again, it was concentrated _human_) the Professor switched clothes, and then selected a dark scarlet coat, which she threw it over, putting her equipment from her original outfit into the coat pockets. "Do I look like an adventurer to you now?"

"Yes, but what about the boots? I doubt they have sonic boots in this time," she joked.

"Would anyone notice?"

"Unless you actually run in them like Sonic the Hedgehog, not really." She frowned. "What about your physical age? No-one would buy you're his mother like that."

In answer, the Professor pulled out a small box, and put on the necklace within. "Shapeshifter's essence. Observe." Shaking the long hair, it turned pepper-coloured, and the angles in her finely-boned face grew more pronounced until she looked about 50. "How's that?"

"Wow. How many changes can you do with that?"

"Only my age." Looking at herself in the mirror, she cursed. "My hair!"

"Vain, anyone?" Martha joked.

Making a face, she braided the strands. "You would be too after 15.507 years being called beautiful. _Vamos_."

* * *

What was more accident-prone in Farringham than Dr. John Smith? Well, Dr. John Smith with a stack of books. Which were usually too many.

"Oh, good morning, Doctor Smith." Joan Redfern greeted the newest member of staff.

"Ah, oh!" The first thing he managed to do coming out of his room was nearly crashing into the Matron and dropping one of the books. "There we go."

"Let me help."

John put his foot on it. "No, I've got it, no–"

The book was pulled out under his foot, nearly causing him to lose balance, but the woman in the scarlet coat was back to her feet in a flash, helping him to gain his footing. "I really can't leave you alone more than a few days. Any longer, and I would have been redirected to the next hospital probably," she joked. "Give me these. You will only end up breaking your bones, John."

Joan was surprised. The woman in front of her was of middle age, with the long hair in a practical but somewhat old-fashioned braid. "Ma'am?"

The young teacher however was flabbergasted at the person who took the books from him and handed one half to Martha. "M-mother?"

"Who else, young man?" she grinned.

"I thought you would finish your book next month, not so early!" he grinned happily.

"I haven't actually. Can't decide which of these Sanskrit poems to add in. Same old when you collect other people's works," the Professor shrugged. "Who's your _friend_?"

A normal human wouldn't have noticed the small autosuggestion in the word, meant to keep the Doctor on track and the nurse away, but Martha had spent a whole week around the telepaths on Kesh'at. _Thank you Professor._

"Err, she's the Matron. School nurse. Matron, this is my mother, Verity Smith."

"The author?"

"'Fraid so," the Professor chuckled.

"Oh my god. I'm Joan Redfern. I've read all the _Tales of the Sky_," she blushed. "They are so grand. As if seen throughout history."

At that, both Martha and the Time Lady had a hard time not to laugh out loud, Martha having a much harder time than the other. _You have no idea_.

"Well, travelling a lot does that to you," the Professor smiled crookedly. "Anyway, I think we ought to go. If you want your copy signed, come by my son's room later."

"Err, well, I think I will," she mumbled, not even looking up as the trio left. _Oh my god_…

Falling into step beside his mother and Martha, John voiced his complaints. "She was only being friendly. Did you have to scare her off like that?"

The Professor stopped and lifted an eyebrow at him. "She was being _interested. _You are only here on borrowed time, son, have you forgotten that? Your free time is nearly up, after that, it's travelling again. You _don't_ have _time_ to think about half-baked relations. Besides, she's…"

He looked away. "I know. I don't get that whole race debacle either. It's so shallow. But she's nice to talk to. _As a friend_."

_Hook, line and sinker_. "Thank all that is great. I thought already you forgot everything our travels taught you." She smirked. "Besides. I cannot help it if she loves my books."

"John? Where do these go?" Martha cut in.

He smiled, grateful for being spared the Spanish Inquisition from northwestern East India. "This way."

1

In the afternoon, Joan Redfern walked up to John's study, clutching a stack of three books, all bound in dark blue leather, with a design of interlocking circles on the backs and the covers. _This is silly. To think that he's the son of that adventurer!_ She sighed, realizing what that meant. _He won't stay, will he? And I would not follow them_. Shaking her head, she knocked on the door.

"Come in," three voices sounded.

_I have a soul's chance in hell to catch that man's attention now_, Joan capitulated as she walked in. Looking at the group surrounding Smith's desk, she quickly realised that the dynamics had never been in her favour – John stared after Martha every time she wasn't looking. "Mrs. Smith?"

"Ah, Miss Redfern. So you _do_ want to have them signed?" the pepper-haired woman smiled generously.

"Err, yes." Joan put the three books on the table, and noticed the handwritten book – or was it a diary? – between the three. "What's this?"

The Professor opened up the books and signed them quickly. "There you go."

Joan picked up the first volume. "»To Miss Joan Redfern. Keep dreaming, long beyond the day all the stars go out. Verity Smith.« Thank you!"

"You are quite welcome." The Time Lady smiled generously. "I wanted to thank you though, for being such a good _friend_ to my son."

The nurse suppressed a flinch, this time hearing the friendly warning. "Well, your son is the most pleasant company. So you three will continue to travel soon?"

"In a month or so, I hope. Just in time for Christmas. But there's something you want to ask, isn't there."

"Err yes, but I think it is of no consequence any longer."

"Even unspoken words have consequences, Matron, or so they say in the East." The ancient woman lifted an eyebrow at her. "What is it?"

Blushing a little, Redfern took a deep breath. "Are you three going to attend the village dance?"

"I, err, I haven't thought about it yet," John stammered.

"Nonsense. Of course we're going," the Professor threw in.

John's ears were glowing bright red. "Err… You had another question, Matron."

The nurse pointed at the book between them. "What is that? It looks like a diary."

"Oh, that," the man smiled awkwardly. "Martha?" He turned to her, seeking approval.

Martha was currently very glad for being black – it hid the blush. "It's fine."

Collecting himself, he took a deep breath. "Lately, I have these extraordinary dreams. They are quite remarkable tales. I keep imagining that I'm someone else, and that I'm hiding…"

"Hiding? In what way?" Joan frowned.

This time, even oblivious John noticed the careful interest of the woman, and turned to his mother instead. "They're almost every night. They're so realistic, I can't help it but write them down as a fiction. Not that it would be of any interest."

"Well, I saw what you wrote, son, and I have to disagree."

Joan caught herself at showing interest. Again. _Stop being silly. Of course he's different, he practically grew up on the road, and that's where he's going to return to. – But that doesn't mean I cannot be his friend_. "Your mother is right, Doctor Smith. I'd be very interested."

"Well then, here you are." Carefully, he handed the leather-bound book over.

Martha wanted to protest, but then, she caught the Professor's eye, and understood. _This is meant to happen, isn't it?_ she thought, touching the woman's wrist to establish a connection.

The Time Lady took a second to listen to the book's history, using the ticking of the grandfather's clock in the room as aid. _It is. Her descendants are going to make a book out of it._

"A Journal of Impossible Things," Joan read out loud, flipping through the pages. John's handwriting – the Doctor's handwriting, really – carried the 'accent' of his native Gallifreyan, causing all letters to be somewhat rounded, making it a difficult read. Also, it was messy, written down at high speed. Charcoal drawings littered the pages in between the words. "Just look at these creatures." The pepper-shaker body armour of a Dalek dominated one of the pages, causing the Professor to narrow her eyes, unseen by the others. "Such imagination." The Moxx of Balhoon, Autons labelled as plastic men, and one of the Pompadour clockwork robots followed suit.

"I am nowhere near my mother's level in writing," he dismissed.

"I started not much better, son."

"It's wonderful. And quite an eye for the pretty girls," Joan mused, showing the newest page.

That one caused both Martha and the Professor to freeze, for it was a near perfect copy of the Lungbarrow family portrait. With an addition – a youngish woman, shorter than everyone else, standing beside the Keeper. "Oh no, no, she's my sister in the dream. This character, Alyia. I call her, Alyia. Seems to disappear later on. I don't know – disinherited maybe?"

The Professor looked away and got up. It had been about the most horrid thing she had had to do in her entire tenure of being Head of House: Unnaming her own daughter. True, she had brought it on herself, but… _It doesn't help if the obvious choice in an heir is outshone by an heir (very) presumptive, like one's older brother. It just accounts for more stupid acts. No wonder the clan council demanded it_. The girl had been lucky, as her husband's family had taken her on, writing her name into their registry, but the damage had been done. A Gallifreyan without a name, without a clan… was nothing. And only a Head of House could undo this. Unseen, she gritted her teeth, turning her back on the group. _Which I never will be able to_. It took all of her considerable willpower not to fill the air with her oppressive presence and scream.

Oblivious to the ancient woman's regrets, Joan continued, and came face to face with a drawing of the TARDIS, labelled 'Magic Blue Box'. "What's this?"

John shrugged. "Ah, that's the box. The blue box. It's always there. Like a magic carpet. This funny little box that transports me to far away places."

"Like a doorway?" Interest in the person had long since been replaced by wonder and curiosity – the dream journal was just too amazing.

"Quite," John shrugged. The next three pages were littered with the faces of men, and a drawing of the Professor in her youthful unchanging splendour. Martha guessed that most of them were the Doctor (given that the 10th was the first on the left), and the five surrounding the Professor were The Keeper's regenerations, as she recognised the last one from the painting in the TARDIS. "I sometimes think how magical life would be if stories like this were true."

"If only," Joan sighed.

"It's just a dream." The last drawing was the pocket watch, obviously drawn this morning.

"But you three already live a similar life – always on the road," she argued.

Suddenly, the Professor turned around to them. "Some people would argue _life _is but a dream, but I don't know… if it's a dream, I wouldn't want to wake up. Ever."

1

Joan left, the journal and her signed books in her hands, and stopped as the Professor blocked her way. "Are you sure about that?" the Time Lady asked, pointing at the journal.

"Oh, I'll look after it. Don't worry. He did say I could read it."

"Oh, good. Just wanted to be sure."

Joan switched gears. The curiosity about the man was back, even if not in a romantic notion. "Who is he, ma'am?"

"I beg your pardon?" the Professor glared.

"It's like he's left the kettle on. Like he knows he has something to get back to, but he can't remember what. And it has nothing to do with travelling."

"That's just him."

"He came here, out of nowhere, a black secretary in tow who was unexplainably his best _friend_," Joan countered.

"I met Martha when she was very young. Took her in and raised and taught her. Together with him," the Professor answered, sticking to the story with ease. "And if you don't mind me saying so, we do not care for so-called racial superiority. You do yourself not _any_ favour, not even if you want to be his friend, if you are so superficial and judge the book named Martha Jones by her cover. Think and look deeper, and you might be surprised. Matron."

The nurse was speechless at the rebuke, staring after her as she walked away. _What am I supposed to believe then, Mrs. Smith? Your books, or society?_

1

Later, in the evening, the Professor carried a steaming mug of grog outside of the village pub, much to the shock of the bundled-up Martha and Jenny. "Mrs. Smith, you didn't have to come out here."

"Rubbish. If there's one thing you should know about me Jenny, it's that I do as I like," the woman grinned. "I hope you don't mind if I join you, ladies."

"Not at all, ma'am."

"Please, just Verity," she shook her head, sitting down as Jenny slowly sat as well, "John will be coming out soon too."

"How on God's Earth did you manage to make him do that? It's bloody freezing out here!" Martha stared at her in disbelief. The answer laid in the woman's expression. She simply lifted an eyebrow, the face blank. "You made your 'mother' face at him, didn't you?"

The Professor dropped the expression and chuckled. "It's not like he is even able to say 'no' to that."

Martha laughed, remembering their third day on Kesh'at, where the Doctor finally had gathered enough courage to protest against his duty as bag-hanger. In one fluid motion, the Professor had turned around, pulled a blank stare, and lifted an eyebrow, as if to say '_So_?!', causing the man to duck his head, the ears turning red as he picked up all the bags again. "It is somewhat hard to resist, yes." Shivering, she looked at the pub, the eyes narrowed. "It's freezing out here. Why can't we have a drink inside the pub?"

Jenny shook her head. "Now don't be ridiculous. You do get these notions! It's all very well, those Suffragettes, but that's London. That's miles away."

"But don't you just want to scream sometimes, having to bow and scrape and behave. Don't you just want to tell them?"

"I don't know. This is England, it's like this."

"You know, she has a point," the Professor mused. "I had less trouble moving about Cairo, even considering I had to wear a veil. They simply had a compartment for the women."

"Things are so different in other places. In your country too, Martha, hm?"

"Yeah, well they are. Thank God I'm not staying."

"You keep saying that, but I doubt you really are going to leave. At least not without Doctor Smith," Jenny grinned.

Martha was shell-shocked. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

The Professor drowned her laughter in her mug of grog. _Perceptive one_.

"Don't. People usually don't think I'd notice because I am all roses and sunshine all the time, but I am not stupid. I can see when someone is sweet on someone else from a mile away. And whenever someone mentions his name, you get that look on your face," the maid smiled.

"Oh my god." Martha noticed numbly the Professor's vain attempt at _not laughing_. "You're not helping Verity."

Putting down the mug, she laughed heartily. "I'm sorry. I can't help it. The whole situation is way too bizarre. Anyway. We're leaving in a month or so."

"Really."

"Yep. Just you wait. One more month and we're as free as the wind. I wish you could come with us, Jenny. You'd love it."

"Maybe she can," the Professor thought out loud, assessing Jenny. It took a special sort of person to be a Companion, both to her and to the Doctor.

"Where are you going to go?" Jenny wondered.

"Anywhere. Everywhere and nowhere," the Professor smiled.

"Just look up there." Martha nodded at the starlit sky. "Imagine you could go all the way out to the stars."

"You don't half say mad things," Jenny laughed.

"No. That's where we're going. Into the sky, all the way out," Martha mused. Just then, a green light flashed in the sky.

The Professor snapped out of her relaxed stance immediately, the whole body rigid with alarm. "Did you see that?" Martha breathed, surprised.

"See what?" Jenny was confused.

Martha looked at the Professor, standing up, "Did you see it though?"

The Professor nodded grimly, her _Valeyard_ trained senses tingling. "Right up there, just for a second." She got up as well, narrowing her eyes at the dark sky. _Something has fallen through time in here_.

Just as Martha wanted to ask her if it was the Family, the Matron came running. "Did you see that? There was something in the woods. This light."

Just then, John stepped out of the pub, his hat in hands. "Anything wrong, ladies?" he asked, moving over to the Professor's side.

"About time John," she replied jokingly, though still rigid as she fixated the woods. "I was already considering if I had to drag you out by your ear."

"Ah, yes." He rubbed his neck in embarrassment. "The headmaster cornered me about the upcoming exams. But enough of that, it's far too cold to be standing around in the dark."

"There!" Joan shouted as she pointed to the sky where the green light shot through it this time. "There, look in the sky!"

"Oh, that's beautiful," Jenny smiled.

Realizing just how spooked Joan was, the Professor cut the excitement. "It's a meteor. Visible path of a space rock falling through the atmosphere." She paused, sending Martha a grave glance. _It's them_. "Looks like it came down in the woods."

Martha nodded simply, understanding. _Game on_.

John shook his head. "No, no, no. No, they always look close, when actually they're miles off. Nothing left but a cinder. Now, I should escort you all back to the school. Ladies?"

"No, we're fine, thank you, John," Martha denied.

"Where are you staying, mother?" the teacher wondered.

"With a friend. And no, I am not sleeping in a tent in the middle of nowhere again, don't worry," she answered, putting on her own hat. She sent the matron another warning glance. _Hands off my son_.

Joan received the message and nodded curtly. _I know, ma'am_. "I could use a friend's company on the way back."

"Then I shall bid you goodnight," he put his hat on and started to walk off, Joan following closely.

After they left, the Professor turned to leave as well. "Good night. Martha," the Professor called as over her shoulder, "Be careful."

"Of course ma'am," she nodded, both of them knowing she was going to search for the ship.

1

The next day, Martha met the Professor in the TARDIS, telling her she and Jenny had found nothing. "Could it have been invisible?"

"Likely. TARDISes can do that too. He _did_ tell you how the old girl got stuck as a public police call box, didn't he?"

"He said the Chameleon Circuit got fried when he went to the sixties. What does a TARDIS actually look like by the way?" the student frowned.

"It's a colony of coral. Okay, a time-travelling, space-worthy, bigger-on-the-inside non-aquatic colony of coral. Funny thing. Just proves that his current form is technically his _perfect_ regeneration – his TARDIS desktop theme is coral," the Time Lady mused, checking the scanners. "How are you doing, beautiful?"

The TARDIS hummed in answer, as the telepathy booster was down. Martha smiled for a moment. "Anything?"

"Nothing we can do in standby mode. Picked up a trace energy signature, but that's about it. I should have scanned with my own before powering her down," the Professor grumbled in frustration. "Anything he said about this whole insanity?"

"He made a video with 20-odd rules what to do and what to avoid."

"Let me guess. Half of them are things you would consider right to do or avoid anyway, the other things are ramblings, and the all-important rule of pears."

"Spot on." Martha turned on the video, fast forwarding through it until the last one, #23. "_And twenty three. If anything goes wrong, if they find us, Martha, then you know what to do. Open the watch. Everything I am is kept safe in there. Now, I've put a perception filter on it so the human me won't think anything of it. To him, it's just a watch. But don't open it unless you have to. Because once it's open, the Family will be able to find me. It's all down to you, Martha. Your choice. Oh, and thank you._" Martha sighed. "Anything you would advise me on? It's a nightmare with him – the human him fancies me."

"Don't say Gallifrey, TARDIS or Time Lord around him."

"Okay." The younger woman shook her head.

"About the fancy, well, the Chameleon Arch may have something to do with that. Can't be certain what though until I go through his mind."

"I wish he'd come back."

"So do I."

1

Meanwhile, young Timothy Latimer was enduring John's rambling in the man's study, and thus was reasonably surprised when his favourite teacher suddenly switched to a very different train of thought. "Ah yes. All three volumes of _Tales of the Sky_. And I wanted a little word. Your marks aren't quite good enough, young man."

"I'm top ten in my class, sir," he defended.

"Now, be honest, Timothy, you should be the very top. You're a clever boy. You seem to be hiding it. Where is that book? And I know why. Keeping your head low avoids the mockery of your classmates, the jealousy and torment." John wrecked his brains, not quite sure where he had put the copy he had ordered for the boy, and dove back into his personal library. "No person should need to hide oneself, don't you think?"

"No sir."

"You're clever. Be proud of it. Use it."

Tim was only half-listening to his teacher, for he had noticed the man's fob watch sitting on the mantle. It was calling to him like a siren. Picking it up, he was startled to hear a voice, first a woman ordering, "_Time Lord. Time Lord. Timothy, hide us_," and then, much to his confusion, Doctor Smith's as he opened it. "_The secret lies within. I'm trapped. I'm caged. Inside the cold, the metal, the dark, but waiting_." The woman mixed in again. "_Reach out boy, reach out_." Just then, he noticed that John was finished with his search, and he snapped it closed, pocketing the watch. "_Always waiting_."

"Fascinating details of East India, Northern Africa and the Middle East, culture, history, and of course, their wars. Really quite remarkable. Are you all right?"

Tim caught himself. "Yes, sir. Fine, sir."

"Right then. Good. And remember. Use that brain of yours," John ordered, handing over the books.

As the boy laid hands on them, the strange variant of the teacher's voice whispered in his ears again. "_The Power of a Time Lord_," it hissed, followed by a vision of a very different-looking John Smith wielding a glowing, whirring tool, an air of absolute _power_ around him.

But that same voice, in its usual kind and gentle timbre snapped him out of the vision, replacing the vision with the real, rather concerned face of John Smith, PhD. "You're really not looking yourself, old chap. Anything bothering you?"

"No, sir. Thank you, sir." As quickly as he could, he left John's room, and rushed to his dormitory. There, he opened it again, and heard the man's voice again as he opened it.

"_I am The Doctor. You are not alone. Keep me hidden_," he ordered. Memories and the woman's voice drifted into Tim's mind, more terrifying than he could ever imagine. "_And infinite fire. Burn with light. Burn in time_."

* * *

In the afternoon, Martha and the Professor stood outside in the courtyard, watching as John stood before three groups of young boys, firing machine guns at three target dummies. The older woman suppressed a scowl. "My son approving of weapons. I thought I'd never see the day again. He can't even stand me using one, and I have done that for 15.400 years."

"You had one hanging from the ceiling, and he didn't look too happy about it."

She shook her head. "I am the Lord High Valeyard, the Law of Gallifrey. Many of those I prosecuted put it very aptly: I used to be the council's bloodhound and hangwoman. Some of those I hunted came home in a box."

"Dead or alive."

"Sometimes, _preferably dead_."

1

At the same time, Tim struggled with his concentration, being assaulted by a vision of a battlefield, much to the chagrin of his partner, Hutchinson. "Stoppage. Immediate action. Didn't I tell you, sir? This stupid boy is useless. Permission to give Latimer a beating, sir," he addressed Headmaster Rocastle.

"It's your class, Doctor Smith," the balding teacher shrugged.

"Permission denied," John ordered. "Latimer, you are on Jankers (KP duty) for the rest of the week." Hutchinson wanted to protest, but the words died on his lips at the teacher's glare. In that moment, there was something absolutely terrible about soft-spoken John Smith, as if he was someone else.

Tim bowed his head. "Yes sir." They left.

"As you were, Doctor Smith," Rocastle nodded, leading Baines away.

John turned around, noticing his mother and Martha at the wall, and walked up to them. "Mother, Martha."

"The matron wanted you to know she'll give back the journal next time she sees you," Martha mentioned.

"No, that's fine, she doesn't have to," he declined. "How about we go for a walk instead?"

"That would be lovely, son."

Farringham village was like any English turn-of-the-century village, small, tranquil and quiet. They were currently talking about his first coming to the school. Apparently, in John's memories, before he'd left, fresh from college, they'd had a small, serious discussion about the school he would be teaching in. Both Martha and Mrs. Smith hadn't liked the idea of a military school, and the Professor, having lived as a professional Law Enforcer and Hangwoman through three different ages of Galactic History, could completely agree. "I still don't like the school John," she told him. "Watching boys learn how to kill… it isn't right. Wars are adult business."

"Don't you think discipline is good for them?" he argued. "Not everyone has a mother like you."

"Does it have to be such military discipline? I mean, if there's another war, those boys won't find it so amusing," Martha asked.

"Well, Great Britain is at peace, long may it reign," he shrugged.

"In your journal, in one of your dreams, you wrote about next year. Nineteen fourteen," Martha continued.

"It's just that. A dream."

"All those images of mud and wire. You told of darkness. You said that someone will say _that the lamps are going out all over Europe and we shall not see them lit again in our time_," the Professor finished.

"Well then, we can be thankful it's not true. And I'll admit mankind doesn't need warfare and bloodshed to prove itself. Everyday life can provide honour and valour, and let's hope that from now on this, this… country can find… its heroes… in smaller places," he thought out loud, growing more and more distracted by a few men hoisting up a piano.

The women followed his gaze, and noticed with horror that the rope the men were using was fraying, and about to snap. The Professor's 4D sight caught on immediately – the piano would fall on the woman who was just coming around the corner. Together with the baby she was pushing in front of her. _Oh no_. Action-based as she was, she knew that saving the two would expose her – and the sonic running boots she wore to boost her speed.

"In the most…" The second length of rope started to fray as well, "Most ordinary…" the woman almost reached it, "Of deeds!" He grabbed a cricket ball a young boy was playing with beside him and hurled it at a bundle of poles. They fell and started a complicated chain reaction, hitting a plank of wood with a brick on the end which flew up and over the piano, finally knocking a milk churn into the woman's path. She stopped with a shriek, moments before the piano crashed down. A little shocked at himself, he breathed, "Lucky."

"I wouldn't call that luck," the Professor raised an eyebrow.

"That… was extraordinary," Martha smiled.

He turned to her, fighting a blush at her praise. "Martha, would you like to attend the village dance this evening with me as my guest?"

Martha shot the Professor a desperate look. _What am I supposed to do?_

The woman smirked, having figured out what the Chameleon Arch had done to the Doctor. "Well, I'll leave you young folks for now. I still have a poem to translate." Passing Martha by, she added, "Go. Or you'll regret it."

"Why?"

"_He's_ still in there. _His_ emotions," she answered mysteriously, hushing away.

Smiling shyly, Martha nodded. "I'd love to, John." Numbly, she noticed that the Professor had handed her a blue-black fob watch – her own. _What's this?_

_I thought you could use something to be able to talk to me without pretence. That's my Chameleon watch, filled with enough psychic energy to establish a link if you touch it or call my name._

_Thanks_. Slowly, she and John walked over the fields. _What am I supposed to do?_

The Professor hushed over the landscape, the eyes fixated on the fourth dimension. _My son drained himself of all conscious memory and his Gallifreyan biology, but not of his intuition – you saw what he did with that ball – or emotions. The latter is rather difficult anyway, so they end up in his subconscious, controlling his responses… And, if I may be so bold – use it. The memory of Pinky is not lingering on him right now. So, what he feels, John feels. Just John has the advantage of not being plagued by guilt over lost people._

_What?!_

_He's still in there. See you tonight. I am going to stand for hours in my wardrobe and will try to decide just how much Prydonian Red I am going to wear. Try to get through to Theta_.

1

Walking through the fields, the pair made their way back to school. "Oh, it's all becoming clear now. The Doctor is the man you'd like to be, doing impossible things with cricket balls," Martha joked.

"Well, I discovered a talent, that's certainly true," he chuckled.

"But the Doctor has an eye for the ladies," she mocked him.

"Oh the devil."

"A girl at every fireplace…"

He could only laugh and shake his head, "Now, there I have to protest, that's hardly me and you know it! The only girl for me–" He stopped himself, turning away with red ears, desperately fighting a blush. Looking for a distraction, he looked over and spotted a lone scarecrow in the middle of a field. "That scarecrow's all skewed."

They walked up to it, and Martha watched him fixing the doll. "Ever the artist. Where did you learn to draw?"

"Gallifrey," he answered promptly.

Alarmed, Martha remembered the Professor's warning to not mention things concerning his real life. "Is that in… Ireland?" she asked slowly.

"Yes, it must be, yes…" He sounded a little unsure.

"But you're not Irish John."

"No, no. You remember my father, Sydney. He was a surgeon for the army until the wanderlust got the better of him. Didn't help he married a woman of the roads, a secretary stuck with the same wanderlust," he laughed, then frowned. "I can't quite remember though where we met you. Something about a hospital and the moon. Anyway, you are just like her."

"It was something like that," she smiled, going along with it, "They're lovely people. And secretaries do make such good wives!"

"Really? Right. Yes." He stepped back sheepishly. "Well, my work is done. What do you think?"

"Masterpiece," she answered. Something was off about the straw puppet, but she couldn't tell what, and she didn't have time to think about it as John took her hand.

"All sorts of skills today!" he laughed, pulling her back to the road and continuing on.

What both failed to notice was as they walked away was the scarecrow turned its head to watch them.

1

Later, Martha sat in the study at her side of the desk, sorting through papers, slightly unaware that John caught every detail of her figure and poise with pieces of chalk and charcoal on a big piece of heavy Tiziano paper. _You are so beautiful… to me… now who sung that? Why can't I remember?_ The voice was clear in his head, gritty, smoky, strong and true. A man's voice, but gone before he could grasp it. Finally, he set the last stroke on the drawing. "Martha."

Startled, Martha nearly dropped the stack of papers. "John? What is it?"

He patted the Chesterfield beside him. "Come and have a look."

A little reluctant, she sat down and couldn't help but gasp at seeing the soft-toned grey scale likeness of herself at the desk. He had caught her with frightening accuracy, in a moment of deep thought. But there was something about it, as if… "Oh, goodness, do I look like that?"

"Do you like it?" he asked hesitantly.

Martha was currently _very_ glad she was black, despite the time period. "John, you made me far too beautiful."

"You are to me. This is what I see when I see you," he stated softly.

"I am _black_, John. Do you know what the world sees when they see me?" she stated, a little bitter. "They don't see me. Just my skin."

"That's not what I see," he whispered. "You are brilliant, and so beautiful." Stroking her hair, he leaned in and kissed her. "I'm sorry, I…"

Caught in the moment, the dazed Martha silenced him with another kiss he met with gentle eagerness. At the same time, parts of herself were fighting a shouting match, alternating between _oh my god he's kissing me_ and _he's __not_ _the Doctor!_, all the while a voice which suspiciously sounded like the man's mother cut in between the warring parties with _oh, but in a way, he __is_.

Speaking/thinking of the devil, the Professor just chose this inopportune moment to enter the room, carrying a garment bag, causing them to flinch away from each other as if burnt. "Oh, I'm sorry. Of all the times my timing has to fail me," she muttered.

"M-mother, I…"

"V-verity."

"No, no, don't stop on my account. I just came to deliver this as you were not in your room, Martha," the Professor smiled, dropping the garment bag on the coffee table. Walking away, she closed the door behind herself, and leaned against it. "_That… was quick. I __knew_ _he felt like this for her, but it seems I misgauged on the intensity_…" she whispered in Gallifreyan, stopping herself just in time to notice the matron standing in front of her. "Miss Redfern."

Joan, in turn, wore a face of utter shock, having witnessed the second kiss. "Mrs. Smith." She let the hand she'd lifted to knock sink down again.

"I take it you can keep things to yourself," the Time Lady frowned.

"You approve of this?"

"I can hardly deny him his heart's desire. Neither can you," the woman shook her head. "It's _human nature_."

The nurse nodded slowly. "I admit, a few days, even a few hours ago, I would have been jealous, and acted in the way everyone does. But, you and your books made me think, and… I hope for both of them it will turn out right." Joan had the distinct feeling the older woman was not even looking at her any longer. Her eyes seemed to look at something _far away_, both in time and space…

"Don't we all, Miss, don't we all. Excuse me." Hushing out, she twisted the outer ring of her wristwatch-like device, activating the perception blocker. _I need a roof. I need to **see**, to **hear**. There is something I cannot grasp, hidden under all these human timelines, some fixed event why we are here of all places and times_, she thought angrily as she climbed onto the school. "Where are you? I know you've come, so, where are you?" _Line in a piece of fabric, needle in a haystack. Add a Valeyard's scatterbrain to it and the mess is complete. I need a beacon_…

1

While the Professor wrestled with the density of the fabric of history in the school, it being full of complicated events and timelines, she actually missed that there _was_ something – someone really – akin to a beacon, just under her nose. Quite literally, for Timothy Latimer sat in the garden of the school under a tree. Just under the rear School Tower, listening to the watch, which alternated between warnings, images and outrageous stories. First, they had scared him, more than any of the other cadets had ever been able to, but soon, he found the watch to be something akin to a confidant, and thus had no trouble heeding its plea of keeping it hidden until the time was right. "_Darkness is coming_," it whispered, again in that strange woman's voice. "_Keep me away from the false and empty man_," the voice of 'The Doctor' urged. _But what does that mean?_

"_I am one of the last of the Time Lords. A survivor of that ancient race_," the Doctor answered, showing him his reality of being chased instead.

Again, the woman's voice completed the train of thought. "_They merge with the faces of men_," she whispered, causing the teen to look up in alarm. What he saw, was only one thing: creepy. Baines, together with Lucy Cartwright and Mr. Clark, tilted his head to the side, and then sniffed in sync with them.

1

An hour later, the Professor still stood on the roof, half-brooding, half-scanning the surrounding flux of Time, all the while fighting an enormous headache. _Damn it, I am out of practice with Chronos_. Suddenly, something _rang_ in the temporal ether, as if someone had struck a Cloister Bell with a vibraphone mallet. _What the_… She barely stopped herself from just dashing down the wall (that would have broken even _her_ perception filter), and took the stairs instead, following the sound, but even knowing she had finally found a clue of the Family, it took her by surprise that the reverb traced back to the maid John and Martha had befriended. _One word. Fuck. Time to find Martha and open that damn watch. No more nice Time Lords_.

1

Hours later, a somewhat flustered Martha showed her dress to John. It was, especially for the English countryside of that time, exceptionally posh, showing that it was a gift from the Professor: an orgy in flowing dark purple silk, overlaid with a burgundy vest. "What do you think?"

"You look wonderful," he smiled softly. "Absolutely breathtaking."

"Thank you," Martha blushed. "You'd best give me some warning. Has your dancing improved at all?"

He laughed. "I should think not, but I'm not certain."

"There's a surprise. Is there anything you're certain about?" she smiled crookedly.

"Yes. Oh, yes," he answered, taking her hands. Just as he was kissing her again, the door flew open, a rather distressed Professor rushing through it. "Mother! Your timing is _impeccable_," he scoffed, trying to cover his embarrassment.

"Normally, I'd commend you on a successful use of sarcasm, but I don't have the time for it," the older woman brushed off. "Martha, I need to talk to you in private."

"Ma'am?" A little stunned, the med student followed her to the small area holding all of John's books. "What's going on? Oh, love the dress. And thank you for mine, where did you get that?"

"Thanks," the woman dismissed, having chosen a simple dark red dress. "You look lovely, but that's not the point. They've found us. I've just outrun the 'Mother'." She scanned the room, expecting to sense her son's presence in two places, and only finding one. "What in the name of the Nine Hells… The watch. Someone took it…" She blinked, taking a good look at the _time_ in the room. "Strange. It was _supposed_ to be taken. Hidden away." She shook her head. "No matter. They don't know you yet."

"What am I supposed to do?" Martha found it a little disturbing that she dismissed the missing of the Chameleon watch that easily, but then again, she said it was _supposed_ to be taken.

Worry etched into every angle of her face, emphasised by her artificially aged appearance, the Professor took her by the shoulders. "I want you to watch your backs. I'll think of something."

"But…"

"I am not half as important to him right now as you. The advantage and disadvantage of not remembering is this, his people priorities," she explained. "Listen Martha. You go and watch over him, I'll make sure we'll get him back."

"Okay," she nodded numbly.

* * *

Much to Martha's surprise, John proved to be quite the dancer, even considering his sense of direction was a little off, as they bumped once or twice into others. "Sorry."

"Mrs. Smith." At a table, Joan joined the brooding Professor. "They seem to be enjoying themselves. Where did she get that dress?"

"Miss Redfern. Found that in Amsterdam a few years ago," the Time Lady dismissed. _Chronologically speaking_. "I must thank you for your discretion."

"It was silly of me to think…" Joan stopped herself. "I mean, who would really consider a widow."

"He's like a miniature storm, isn't he?" The Professor smiled fondly. "So different from what you are used to in men."

"Yes, and thank you," she blushed. "Oh, I must look so silly, a country girl chasing after a man of the world."

"I think you are underestimating your charms and wits. Quite a bit like dear Martha in some areas actually," she grinned, then grew serious again. "But, about John, you know that sometimes he says these strange things, like people and places you've never heard of…" She looked at Joan to see her nodding. "But it's deeper than that. Sometimes, when you look in his eyes, you know, you just know, that there's something else in there. Something hidden. Right behind the eyes, something hidden away. In the dark. Something great and terrible, which no-one should know."

"Like yourself?"

"Perceptive, I like that. And thus, I am sorry for what I am going to do – make him remember just that."

Just then, John brought her a drink. "Mother."

"A word, son."

"Can't it wait? I am enjoying myself," he complained.

"No. A _Child of Gallifrey_ knows that timing is everything," she growled.

The deliberate use of a key phrase had the desired effect, stirring up his suppressed emotions. "What…" He put his hand to his forehead, as if it would shoo away the voices stirring in his head.

"Forgive me, son. Forgive all of us. You are, in a way, John Smith, but that is just a fraction of what you truly are," she explained. "You're called The Doctor. The people in your journal, they're real. He's you. You are a _Time Lord_, from the planet _Gallifrey_, Shining World of the Seven. A _Time Traveller_."

"_No_, stop it!" Anxious, he put both his hands to the sides of his head, suffering from the storm of voices and images.

Martha stood beside him, unsure what to do, and thus reached for the blue-engraved fob watch in her handbag. _This is why I shouldn't mention these words?_

_Yes. They're key phrases, embedded deep in the Chameleon Arch base code. If he had the watch, he would now start to notice it, and be compelled to open it. This way, he might be more accepting when he gets it. I'm sorry, but I thought it better if I do this_.

Before John could even snap out of it, an older man, gun in hand, knocked over a hat stand as he strode in. "There will be silence!" he thundered, "All of you!" Animated scarecrows, Jenny, and Baines filed in after him. "I said silence!"

"Mr. Clark!" the announcer called, "What's going on?"

Clark simply turned and fired at him, disintegrating him.

"John," the Professor stood up, "Everything I just told you, just forget it! Don't say anything."

"We asked for _silence_!" Baines yelled. "Now then, we have a few questions for Mister Smith."

Just then, little Lucy joined them. "No, better than that. The teacher. He's the Doctor. I heard them talking."

_Me and my twat-munching big mouth_, the Professor cursed internally.

"You took human form," Son-of-Mine marvelled.

"Of course I'm human. I was born human, as were you, Baines. And Jenny, and you, Mister Clark. What is going on? This is madness," John protested.

"Ooo, and a human brain, too. Simple, thick and dull," the mayfly-turned-man jeered.

"But he's no good like this," Jenny/Mother-of-Mine argued.

"We need a Time Lord," Clark/Father-of-Mine agreed.

"Easily done." Baines stepped forward, aiming his ray gun at the man. The crowd gasped. "Change back."

"I don't know what you're talking about," John shot back, the head already swimming in the words his mother had given him, and the fear not making it any better.

"Change back!" Baines ordered.

"I literally do not know…" he answered, pained.

Jenny grabbed Martha in a choke-hold, putting her own gun to her head.

"Get off me!" Martha yelled.

"She's your beloved, isn't she? Your _beloved_ companion," she mocked. "Doesn't this scare you enough to change back?"

"I don't know what you mean!" John was getting desperate.

Jenny stopped for a second, and grinned nastily. "Wait a minute. The secretary told me about another Smith. She is posing as his _mother_. That woman, there."

"Then let's have you." Clark grabbed the Professor, holding the woman by the shoulder (no easy feat as she was at least half a head taller than the stolen body).

_Big mistake to try and grab a descendant of the last Pythia_, the Professor thought darkly, noticing the fact that they made no point in restraining her properly.

Baines grinned nastily. "Have you enjoyed it, Doctor, being human? Has it taught you wonderful things? Are you better, richer, wiser? Then let's see you answer this. Which one of them do you want us to kill? Secretary or Scribe? Your lover or your friend? Your choice."

To Be Continued…


	3. One: SoaA – The Family of Blood

**AN: The idea with the masking spray I got from LizzeXX's story "Recuperation". I thank every author here on FFN who thinks that Human Nature and Family of Blood is a good place to shift the Doctor's attention to Martha. So, without further ado: ****_Allons-y_****!  
**

* * *

_"Get down! – Argh! They're following us."– "And the good news is?" – "Their life spans are running out, so, we hide. Wait for them to die. – __That's__ the Chameleon Arch. Rewrites my biology. – I have to stop being a Time Lord. I'm going to become Human."  
"Can you tell me why in the Nine Hells she sent me a distress signal?"  
"Tales of the Sky. – Journal of Impossible Things."  
"He's like a miniature storm, isn't he? So different from what you are used to in men." – "Yes."  
'It doesn't help he's… fancying me!' – "__He's__ still in there. __His__ emotions."  
«If they find us Martha… open the watch.»  
'I need a roof. I need to see, to __**hear**__. There is something I cannot grasp, hidden under all these human timelines, some fixed event why we are here of all places and times. – I need a beacon.'  
"Sometimes I say things and they turn out to be correct."  
"Martha, they found us. – What in the name of the Nine Hells… The watch. Someone took it…"  
"Change back!" – "We need a Time Lord." – "She's your beloved, isn't she? Your __**beloved**__ companion." – "Which one do you want us to kill?" – "Doesn't this scare you enough to change back?" – "Your lover, or your friend?"_

**One: Son of an Adventurer – The Family of Blood**

"_Homo est. Humani nihil a se alienum putat." (He is human. He believes that nothing human is alien to him.) – Cicero_

"Make your decision, Mr. Smith," Jenny grinned.

"Perhaps if that human heart breaks, the Time Lord will emerge," Baines mused.

"You did yourself a great disservice with not tying me up," the Professor muttered darkly. Baines shot her a confused look, and that was all she needed. Yelling, she let loose a blast of negative psychic energy, freeing herself and stealing Clark's gun with a well-aimed slap.

"What was that?" Baines whispered hoarsely, fighting the sound of an enormous bell in his head.

"I'm pretty good at ripping people's minds to shreds. Pity yours are a bit too dissimilar to most, which means I would need some time," she hissed, taking a step back to aim at them. _The one time I forget the blaster_. "One more move and I shoot," she warned him.

"Oh, the Mrs. is full of fire!" Baines snickered. The answer was not as funny, as the Professor shot off his tie, missing his neck by millimetres.

"Careful, Son of Mine. This is all for you so that you can live forever," Clark warned, also fighting with the echo of the psychic attack.

"Shoot you down!" Baines growled, causing a Mexican Standoff.

"You would be dead before you can pull the trigger, slowpoke douche dumpster," the Time Lady glared.

"Would you really pull the trigger?"

"Brief history lecture," the Professor stated in a deliberately bored voice. "Because it is impossible you're going to shoot _me_ of all things in all of history. Surely, if you are after a Time Lord, you must have heard the stories and legends of Gallifrey? The walking terror, the galaxies which will never be, erased from the fabric of time and space… that was me, _kid_. I am the Raging Sea, the Misery of the Stars, the Destroyer of Histories, _The Law of Gallifrey_ – the _Professor_." Slowly but surely, she let her presence flood the room. "Do you really want to bring _that_ down on you, bozo? For then, I will guarantee your _future_ will end in fire. Now let her go!"

Baines eyes widened, both in terror and in shock. _But she scents of human! How?!_ One Time Lord – the one who burnt his own world – was one thing, but having another, who was very much aware of what she was and what she was capable of, specifically _this one_, Mother of The Doctor and epitome of her race's cunning, was another thing altogether. He nodded at Jenny, who let Martha go.

The Professor pushed the young woman behind her. "Martha, Theta, Miss Redfern, please, get everyone out. There's a door at the side. It's over there. Go on. Go, John, go!"

"Do what she said. Everybody out, now. Don't argue, Mister Jackson. They're mad. That's all we need to know. Susan, Miss Cooper, outside, all of you," Joan said, ushering out the crowd.

Gulping, Martha grabbed John's arm and dragged him away. "Come on, John."

"No…" John was simply put, shell-shocked, and thus, the women had to manhandle him away.

"Audacity, I give you that," Baines mocked the Professor, all of them advancing on the Time Lady after she'd let Jenny go. "The audacity of a Valeyard of Gallifrey. But you are nothing like that woman – she even banished her own daughter without hesitation. The Law of Gallifrey would have killed us, right here, right now. You didn't, for you had to suffer through the burning of your whole family…" Just then, a scarecrow reached for the Professor. "Get the gun!"

Relinquishing the weapon, the Professor used the one weapon which couldn't fail her. "_Gong!_" she hissed, evading the scarecrow as she projected the sound of a Cloister Bell into their heads, a thousand times louder than in reality, stunning them, and raced out. Much to her chagrin, Martha, John and Miss Redfern were still outside. "What are you still doing here?! Move! By the Seven, you're rubbish at being human Theta. Come on! Run!" And running they did.

**The Professor The Professor The Professor **

At school, John called the faculty and the pupils at arms, much to the terror of Martha, the initial annoyance of the headmaster, and causing the Professor to look away. "John, you can't fight straw with bullets."

"First you want me to fight, now you want me to run. What do you really want?"

"I want you to remember, Theta." She had given up following the charade, as much as he fought it. "Martha, please go with Miss Redfern and find me that _time-forsaken scrap piece of a watch_."

The young woman frowned. "What will you do?"

"Find a gun. Of all the days I forget to pack the sonic blaster," she grumbled, but her distaste of (unnecessary) violence was there all the same.

Martha turned away. Her reaction matched her line of work all too well, as she knew from her uncle, who worked for Scotland Yard, and the woman's instincts were dead-set on protecting people; her being the matriarch of her family didn't help that at all. She had lived that life for longer than the modern calendar existed. _Protect, nurture; capture, bring justice. To go for the kill_… She shook her head and dragged Joan away with her.

On their way to John's room, they passed Timothy Latimer, who cowered in a corner, listening to the watch. "_Hold me. Keep me safe. Keep me dark. Keep me closed. The time is not right. Not yet. Not while the Family is abroad. Danger!_" the Doctor warned.

Meanwhile, John had to watch in terror as Baines declared that they were "the Family of Blood", had murdered people, wanted him on a silver platter and killed Mr. Philips. Shaking, he noted his mother's hand on his shoulder. "Mother."

"They won't get you, child," the Professor whispered, the eyes suddenly far older than ever before.

His eyes widened as he saw her shouldering a rifle. "You…" He shook his head in denial. "Mother, please…"

"Mr. Philips has been murdered, Dr. Smith." The headmaster broke into their exchange. "Can you tell me why?"

John shook his head again. "Honestly, sir, I have no idea. And the telephone line's been disconnected. We are on our own."

Rocastle took in the news sternly. "If we have to make a fight of it, then make a fight we shall. Hutchinson, we'll build a barricade within the courtyards. Fortify the entrances, build our defences. Gentlemen, in the name of the King, we shall stand against them."

"Count me in," the Professor ground out.

"Ma'am, with due respect, this is no place for a woman–" Rocastle stopped immediately as the ancient woman disassembled the rifle blindly, put it back together and aimed dead between his eyes.

"You were saying, sir? I bet not even you hunted tigers afoot." _And it were Almatian Tigers, which are trice the size. Granted, I wasn't alone, but it's still something else than shooting them from the back of an elephant_.

"Doctor Smith?"

"Headmaster, my mother was always a better shot than me or my father," John added, both awed and saddened by the fact. He couldn't even remember why she could – just that everyone was supposed to _know_ she could _fight_, and would stop at nothing.

"Very well," Rocastle conceded, sending the boys to finish their fortifications and walked away in shock, getting back to work.

John turned to his mother. "Mother, I want you to…" The words died on his lips as he came face to face with the full force of the woman's years reflected in her eyes. "Mother?"

"I left you to fight alone once, and it cost us everything, despite it being in my power to stop that nut job scientist who never could deal with wartime, just because I am as scared of him as of Black Holes," she whispered. "I am _not_ abandoning you this time."

"But you don't like fighting."

Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, she hugged him tightly. "For family, I would do _anything_."

**John Smith John Smith John Smith John Smith **

John ran into Joan who was decked out in her nurse outfit, preparing for battle. "Matron, it's not safe here."

"I'm doing my duty, just as much as you," she replied, replaying the conversation she just had with Martha – how he and Verity Smith were born on another world, called Gallifrey, not even human, and how the Doctor had turned himself into John Smith, storing everything alien about himself in a watch, overwriting it with false memories. How they all were from the _future_. "You said you were born in Alexandria."

"Just outside of it, on the Nile's westernmost branch."

What followed sounded more like a recitation of a geography lesson than a life story, much to Joan's confusion. No human would describe their childhood like that, facts and figures. "More than facts. When you were a child, where did you play? All those secret little places, the dens and hideaways that only a child knows?"

Unbidden, the image of a grand house with endless rooms built into a cliff came into his mind, a man's voice whispering _Lungbarrow_ in the image; endless plains of _red_ grass and great gardens surrounding it, and he felt an ache in his chest as if someone had torn out his heart and roasted it in front of him. He shook his head. "I… How can you believe I am not real? I am in _love_! I have a _mother_."

"She's just like you. She's an alien, a… a Time Lord or whatever it is those creatures are after. She isn't human."

"What in the world gives you the right…"

"She _is_ your mother, in her own words, but she's not human," Joan interrupted. "She said it herself."

He froze, the realization washing over him like icy rain. "No…" he shook his head, "No, she… she was playing them."

"No Doctor Smith. She clearly knew what they were. She saved us, by betraying her own secret." Joan shook her head. "Besides. She and Martha are right. Those boys, they're children. John Smith wouldn't want them to fight, never mind The Doctor. The John Smith I was getting to know, he knows it's wrong, doesn't he?"

"_Doctor Smith, if you please!_" Rocastle called.

"I have to go," he whispered, unable to deny the nurse's words as he walked away.

Meanwhile, desperation made an advance on an already confused and frustrated Martha. _Goddamnit! Where is that stupid watch?!_ The study, the library, his desk, the drawing table – nothing. It was gone.  
Letting out a frustrated yell, she threw several papers into the air and stormed out. _I really should remember that I got the memo. Life with the Doctor is Murphy's Law_.

**The Doctor The Doctor The Doctor The Doctor **

"Latimer, you filthy coward!" Hutchinson called after his reluctant partner.

"Oh yes, sir. Every time," he called back as he ran back into the school. Away from the battlefield – he had something else to do. Hiding in yet another corner, he took out the watch again. "What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?" he whispered.

"_Beware_," all the voices of the watch warned.

"Beware of what?"

"_Her_." Just then, Lucy Cartwright – sister-of-mine – stood in front of him, sniffing. He got to his feet, alarmed. "Keep away," he called.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I saw you at the dance. You were with that family. You're one of them," he rattled down, lowering the hand with the watch out of sight.

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing."

"What have you got there?"

"Nothing."

"Show me, little boy," she demanded.

"_Let me help_," the Doctor whispered into his mind. "_She won't be able to take __**that**__._"

Grim determination etched itself into Tim's face. "I reckon whatever you are, you're still in the shape of a girl. How strong is she, do you think? Does she really want to see _this_?" he answered. In one fluid motion, he aimed the watch at the girl, opening it, showing her just what kind of man she was after – a man who didn't give second chances. Whose hands had destroyed _his own world_ for the sake of all of history. Who drowned the entirety of the Racnoss _just like that_, a World-Maker watching on for amusement. _The Oncoming Storm_. Frightened, Sister-of-Mine ran away. Tim took the stairs to the dormitory. "Was it really right to reveal you like that?"

"_They know the Raging Sea is here. I cannot lose her again. Watch yourself_."

"Your mother?" He sat down on his bed.

"_I am sorry for frightening you. But I wonder though, if it had been her, would you have been able to be not scared of her?_" the Doctor mused.

"A sea rages when a storm comes," Tim answered, listening to the scarecrows attacking the front gates. "You go hand in hand, don't you?"

"_What was there first, egg or chicken? And so we do_."

**John Smith John Smith John Smith John Smith **

As the scarecrows had broken into the courtyard, John found himself unable to fire even a single round, while his mother fired the rifle with the cold professionalism of a soldier. (He didn't know if he should be proud at that, flinch or be sad she even had to.) It became soon apparent that both Baines and his mother had been right – bullets against straw were _such_ a good idea. However, he thought that not even these _things_ would resort to such low measures as using a little girl, but there she was. Lucy Cartwright mocked the headmaster, and finally vaporised him.

What followed, was nothing short of chaos. They ran. All of them. Eventually, they hid outside in the bushes.

Both to Martha's and the Professor's horror, the Family had… "By the Nine Hells, the Void and Rassilon's underpants! These _sack-faces_ of a bunch of short-lived _cockroaches_ have _my TARDIS_!" the Time Lady hissed.

Joan stared in shock at the older woman using such language.

"Not to mention the Doctor's," Martha shuddered. "We're trapped!"

"_Doctor! Doctor!_" Clark called, sing-song. "_Come back, Doctor. Come home. Come and claim your prize._"

"_Out you come, Doctor. There's a good boy. Come to the Family_," Baines mocked.

"_Time to end it now_," Jenny added.

Martha turned to John and put her hand on top of his. "You recognise it, don't you?"

"_Come out, Doctor! Come to us!_"

"I've never seen it in my life," he answered, the eyes wide with confusion and denial.

"I'm sorry, Theta, but you wrote about it. The blue box. You dreamt of a blue box," the Professor pressed. "_That's_ a TARDIS."

"I'm not. I'm John Smith. That's all I want to be. John Smith, with his life, and his family, and his job, and his love. Why can't I be John Smith? Isn't he a good man?" he wailed as his world was rent asunder. Desperately, he clung to Martha.

"Yes. Yes, he is," the young woman assured him. And it was true. He was a good person – had she met that human Doctor in her time instead of the Time Lord Doctor, she would have been utterly charmed and swept away. Much like Joan had been in the beginning.

"Why can't I stay?" he whispered.

But, as the Professor pointed out, John Smith was a mere fragment of what the Doctor could be. "We need The Doctor."

"What am I, then? Nothing. I'm just a story," he got to his feet, preparing to run away.

A hand on his arm stopped him. "No. You are my son, Thete," the Professor stated sadly. "And you _will always be my son._"

Something slipped through the cracks made by the many key phrases, a memory filled with red grass and that house in the mountains. A poem, which, strangely enough, _rhymed in English too_. (Why was it he knew it wasn't in English?) "_She's the first to hold my hand, the first to hold me tight, the first to show me love, and the first with whom I'll fight. The first to be my hero, the first to be my bane, the first of all my teachers, and the first to keep me sane. The first to say 'I love you' and the first to be my fun. And no matter what transpires, I will be my mother's son_," he whispered hoarsely, the eyes glittering with unshed tears. "What am I then? How do I know these things?"

The Time Lady sighed, getting to her feet as well. "Not here. Is there any place we can talk in private, Miss Redfern?"

The blonde straightened and nodded crisply. "This way. I think I know somewhere."

**Martha Jones John Smith Martha Jones The Doctor Martha Jones John Smith Martha Jones The Doctor Martha Jones John Smith Martha Jones The Doctor **

She led them to a cottage. "Oh, here we are. It should be empty. Oh, it's a long time since I've run that far."

"It _is_ empty," the Professor confirmed, scanning the place with eyes which saw Time. All lines were that of objects (or insects, but who was counting?).

"How come you're not out of breath?"

"Gallifreyan. My body works different than yours." They went inside, and came facing a table decked out for afternoon tea. "Stone cold. The place has been empty for hours."

"Who lives here?" Martha wondered, sitting down the man at the table.

"Err, the Cartwrights. That little girl at the school, she's Lucy Cartwright, or she's taken Lucy Cartwright's form. If she came home this afternoon and if the parents tried to stop their little girl, then they were vanished," Joan answered. "How easily I accept these ideas."

"It speaks of your strength, Miss," the Professor mused. "Omega, I still can't _hear_ it. Why can't I hear _it_?"

"I must go to them, before anyone else dies," John spoke up.

"You can't," the three women called at the same time.

"Mrs. Smith – Professor," Joan corrected herself, "Martha. There must be something we can do."

"Not without the watch," Martha stated sadly.

"You're this Doctor's Mother. Can't you help?" he glared.

"A _sea _won't _rage_ properly without an _oncoming storm_," she glared back, causing him to flinch.

_What in god's name was wrong with her eyes?! I had the feeling I just looked at Time itself!_

"What am I then, if not just a story?" he repeated his question from earlier.

"You are his hearts, _taruelai_," she stated softly. "The boy I have raised to be a man all these centuries ago. But you are so much more than just that. You are a legend, a hero amongst us."

"And that's what you want me to become."

Just then, a soft knock on the door interrupted the upcoming argument. Shaking her head, the Professor walked to the door.

"What if it's them?" Joan wondered.

"I'm not an expert, but I don't think scarecrows knock," Martha replied. "Professor?"

"It's a human. Timeline is definitely the line of a human," the LEO dismissed, opening the door.

Timothy Latimer stood in the frame, holding out the watch. "I brought you this."

"_About damn time_," the Professor muttered in Gallifreyan, taking the watch and leading the boy inside. _Theta!_

_Janayi! Oh thank Rassilon, it's so good to hear you_.

_Once you're back, you have a hell lot of explaining to do to a certain med student_, she thought darkly. _And don't even think about your usual dismissals_.

_I wouldn't even want to_, he admitted. _Get me back, I hate this!_

_Easier said than done. You're rubbish at Human Nature_. She turned around and held out the watch to John. "Hold it."

"I won't," John shook his head, as if this all was just a nightmare.

"He told me to find you. It wants to be held," Latimer insisted.

"You've had this watch all this time? Why didn't you return it?" Martha couldn't quite believe that soft-spoken Timothy would just snatch a watch from his teacher's study like this.

"Because it was waiting. Then, because I was so scared of the Doctor," he admitted.

"Why?" Joan wondered. Tim was not the bravest in school, but he was no coward. In a way, he was braver than his peers, being able to admit that he was scared.

"Because I've seen him." Getting bolder, he stepped forward, confronting the shell of the man trapped in the watch. "He's like fire and ice and rage. He's like the night and the storm in the heart of the sun."

"Stop it," John hissed. _I don't want to hear this!_

"He's ancient and forever. He burns at the centre of time and he can see the turn of the universe," Tim continued, undeterred.

"Stop it, I said stop it!" His head hurt, now that he was around the watch again, images jumbling through his head.

"And he's wonderful," the teen finished. "And so are you two, through his eyes."

"He drives me up every wall in existence, but yes, he's absolutely, insanely wonderful," the Professor agreed, smiling together with Martha. "Enough charade…" Twisting the outer ring of the Shapeshifter pendant, she unbraided her hair, transforming back into the perpetually youthful Time Lady. Quickly, she captured the mane in a ponytail. "Much better."

"Vain anyone?" Martha muttered.

"Do you blame me?"

John stared at them as if they were freaks of nature.

Joan however had kept up with the matter, and recognised the appearance of the Professor from the Journal. Making a decision, she pulled it out. "I've still got this. The journal."

"Those are just stories," John shook his head.

"Now we know that's not true. Perhaps there's something in here."

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the area. They ran to the window, and witnessed glowing orbs descending on the area. "They're bombing the area, aren't they," the Professor answered, not looking outside, having her own watch pressed against her ear instead. "They're trying to lure us out."

"Watch." Out of an impulse, John grabbed the watch, and was shocked to hear his own voice, but so different from his own. It was more like that of his mother, flippant but dark, commanding and infinitely old. "_Closer._"

"Can you hear it?" Tim eyed him.

"_Closer._" John nodded numbly. "It's like he's asleep. Waiting to awaken."

"_Come closer, little man, become complete_," the Doctor coaxed.

"Why did he speak to me?" Tim frowned.

"Oh, low level telepathic field," John dismissed in the tone of The Doctor. "You were born with it. Just an extra synaptic engram causing – Is that how he talks?" he stopped, scared.

"That's him!" Martha grinned, excited to hear that familiar manner again. "All you have to do is open it and he's back."

"You knew this all along and yet you –" he gestured between themselves, unable to speak any further.

"She did because you are him, and because I told her so," the Professor cut in. "Don't blame her for my ways. You – you are exactly the same as the Doctor. 780 years ago."

"No…"

"It was always going to end, though! The Doctor said the Family's got a limited lifespan, and that's why they need to consume a Time Lord. Otherwise, three months and they die. Like mayflies, he said," Martha explained, looking just as troubled.

"And trying to consume an Antarian instead is a one-way ticket to hell," the Professor muttered.

"So your job was to _execute _me," John accused Martha, feeling slightly betrayed.

"No," the Professor cut in. "That is _my_ duty. The TARDIS would have sent me a signal after the end of the three months, and I would have opened it. Or make you. I will never allow Martha to suffer for our family's tendency of attracting minor and major catastrophes."

"Why should I then?"

"People are dying out there. They need him and we need him. Because you've got no idea of what he's like. I've only just met him. It wasn't even that long ago. But he is everything. He's just _everything _to me and he doesn't even look at me, but I don't care, because I love him – you – to bits," Martha admitted.

Just then, one of the bombs struck closer to the cottage. "It's getting closer," Tim murmured.

He rushed to the side. "I should have thought of it before. I can give them this. Just the watch. Then they can leave and I can stay as I am."

"You _can't_ do that!" the Professor glared.

"If they want the Doctor, they can have him."

"He'll never let you do that. Neither will I. And you can never have Martha. The times won't allow it, and you know it. What kind of life would that be?" the Professor answered. "And also… you'd never be able to overpower _me_. I have lost my world, my people, my House, and my husband. Are you denying me my only surviving child as well, _taruelai_?" she whispered.

"If they get what they want, then, then…"

Flipping through the journal, Joan shuddered. The ancient woman's maternal love was heavy in the air, bordering on obsessive. Her words reminded of the dreams John had about a burning world, lost forever. But the end made her gasp. "Then it all ends in destruction. I never read to the end. Those creatures would live forever, to breed and conquer. A war across the stars for every child."

"And the Lords of Space would fight them, leaving nothing but ashes of stars," the Professor promised darkly, remembering the Great Rift – a wound in reality-space from the Celestial Civil War, not healed yet despite billions of years having passed. The result of a battle all over reality. She reached for Joan and Tim. "Let them have some privacy." They filed out, leaving the pair behind.

Inside, Martha and John had sat down before the fireplace. "I'm sorry." She hugged the sobbing man.

"You have no idea of how he feels about you, don't you?" John snorted without humour. "You think he doesn't even see you. But we see you, and you're beautiful. And I cannot even be angry with you, because, well, he isn't, and you are too important to him to lose." He closed his eyes, unable to keep the Doctor's voice out any longer. "I can't even be mad at you for keeping it all a secret, what you and Mother were going to do because the way I feel about you. I just love you two too much."

"Oh John," Martha whispered sadly. She took his hand, covering the watch.

John gasped as a vision assaulted him. The life he could have had, had he been a human from Martha's time. His life as another doctor, meeting her as a colleague. Working together, falling in love. (Getting slapped by her mother.) Their wedding. The birth of their first child, walking in the park with their children, and, finally, a peaceful death after leading a peaceful life. "Did you see that?" he breathed.

Martha nodded numbly. It had been… tempting to say the least. "The Doctor has such adventures, but he could never have a life like that. Not anymore."

John let his head hang. "And neither can I. The _times_."

The young woman hugged him close. "What now?"

John disentangled himself from her, staring at the watch. Meanwhile, more bombs fell. '_Are you denying me my only surviving child as well? – I need him._' "_Decide now_." He turned to Martha again, looking her into the eyes. "Allow me one last thing; it would be _everything _to me."

Unsure, Martha nodded, and was duly surprised as John kissed her for the fourth time, but didn't hesitate to respond. Suddenly, she could hear a faint click, and golden energy wrapped itself around them, concentrating on John…

He jerked back as the power reasserted itself where it belonged. But, even as it was a return to base, it hurt, and so, _they_ screamed. Every second that passed though, the pain lessened as the man's internal structure was reset, and his conscious memory returned. Gallifrey, Lungbarrow, Citadel, Time Lords, and alas, Daleks. _Janayi_. His _name_. His family. His companions, beginning with Susan, clever little Susan… Rose, Mickey… Loyal, brave Jack… Magnificent Donna who he scared off… and Martha. Strong, brilliant, beautiful Martha. The Doctor ceased screaming, looking at his companion. _No point lying to yourself, you old codger. Janayi will have your hide for it_. His _beloved _companion. _I must have the worst track record in the universe after Captain Jack_. He noticed faintly that he was panting, and was, much to his dismay, dressed in tweed. _Worse than bowties!_ "Hello Martha."

Laughing, she hugged him briefly, but then, she waved her head at the door. "Go."

**Omega Rassilon The Other ****Omega Rassilon The Other ****Omega Rassilon The Other ****Omega Rassilon The Other **

Not waiting, he pocketed the watch and raced outside, falling into step with his mother. "Any ideas?"

"I am just an annoying old policewoman, you're the cloudcuckoolander genius," she snarled sarcastically. "Took you long enough. Seriously. Of all the faults you had to inherit from your father and his House, it just _had _to be the inability to deal with emotion."

The Doctor blushed. "Okay, okay, I get it. No, really, any ideas?"

"Acting and trickery, as it becomes of a scion of Prydon. Beyond that…" she trailed off. "Well, they wanted to live forever?"

He nodded grimly. "I think I know just the ones."

"Let's go then."

* * *

"We'll blast them into dust, fuse the dust into glass, then shatter them all over again!" Baines shouted gleefully as he and the Family watched the destruction on a screen. There was a metal clang behind them, causing them to spin around to see John enter the ship.

"Just…" A bomb blast rocked the ground, causing him to lurch against a column of switches. "Just stop the bombardment. That's all I'm asking. I'll do anything you want, just, just stop."

"Say please," Baines ordered calmly.

"Please."

Both Jenny and Baines turned down two of the panels, ending the attack. "Wait a minute," Jenny said, taking a deep sniff. "Still human."

In a panicked voice, John continued. "Now I can't, I can't pretend to understand, not for a second, but I want you to know I'm innocent in all this. He made me John Smith. It's not like I had any control over it," he stumbled, pressing another set of buttons.

"He didn't just make himself human. He made himself an idiot," Jenny frowned.

"Same thing, isn't it?" Baines mocked.

"I don't care about this Doctor and your family. I just want you to go. So I've made my choice." He held out the watch. "You can have him. Just take it, please! Take him away," he offered.

Baines/Son-of-Mine snatched the watch. "At last." Before John could get away though, Baines yanked him back by the suit lapel. "Don't think that saved your life." He pushed John away. More switches got activated as the man fell against the wall. "Family of Mine, now we shall have the lives of a Time Lord," he grinned, opening the watch. All of them sniffed deeply, once, Sister-of-Mine even twice. But… "It's empty!" he thundered, snapping the contraption closed and rounding in on John.

The man stared at him with wide, panic-filled eyes, still sitting on the ground. "Where's it gone?"

"You tell me!" He threw the watch.

The man caught it one-handed without looking, blinking slowly. "Oh, I think the explanation might be you've been fooled by a simple olfactory misdirection," The Doctor smirked, getting to his feet. "Little bit like ventriloquism of the nose." With a dexterity John never possessed, he played with the tritanium tool, holding it between his index and middle finger before pocketing it. Nonchalantly, he continued, "It's an elementary trick in certain parts of the galaxy. But it has got to be said…" he put on his glasses and shot a look at an instrument on the wall beside him, "I don't like the looks of that hydrokinometer. It seems to be indicating you've got energy feedback all the way through the retrostabilisers, feeding back," he gestured at the energy's path, ending at a metal pillar beside him; he knocked it and leaned against it. "Into the primary heat converters. Oh." The Doctor pulled a grimace, somewhere stuck between 'glee' and 'whoops'. "Because if there's one thing you shouldn't have done…" He paused, mock-pouting. "You shouldn't have let me press all those buttons." The Time Lord turned around, making way for the door. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back again. "But! In fairness, I will give you one word of advice." He grinned, a full Lungbarrow-manic grin filled with naked spite and glee. "Run." He rushed out, again falling into step with his mother.

Just then, alarms blared on the ship. "Get out! Get out!" Baines yelled.

**Gallifrey Antares Earth ****Gallifrey Antares Earth ****Gallifrey Antares Earth ****Gallifrey Antares Earth **

The family barely made it out of the ship as the spacecraft exploded, and was thrown at the feet of two very aware and very irate Time Lords. Their glares would have turned _suns_ to ice.

_They never raised their voices. That was the most terrifying part. The fury of the Time Lords. And then we discovered why. Why this Doctor, who fought with Gods and Demons, and this Professor, who walked along the Keepers of Space and burnt whole galaxies worth of history, why they'd run away and hidden: _

_**They were being kind.**  
_

_The Doctor wrapped my father into unbreakable chains, forged in the heart of a dwarf star and dropped him into a pit.  
The two of them tricked my mother into the event horizon of a collapsing galaxy… to be imprisoned there, forever.  
They both still visit my sister. Each one once a year, every year. I wonder if one day they might forgive her, but there she is, can't you see? The Professor trapped her inside a mirror._ Every _mirror. If ever you look at your reflection and see something move behind you, just for a second, that's her. That's _always _her.  
As for me, I was suspended in time, and the Doctor put me to work, standing over the fields of England... as their protector. - We wanted to live forever... so the Last Lords of Time made sure that we did._

**The Doctor The Professor The Doctor The Professor The Doctor The Professor The Doctor The Professor The Doctor The Professor **

The next morning, the two Time Lords approached the cottage. "Are you sure I shouldn't…"

"Theta, I _hate_ repeating myself as much as you do. You are rubbish at being human, or any form of being emotive for the matter," she glared, now dressed back in her own black suit and white coat, causing an eerie reflection effect between mother and son. He was back in his brown suit, his own coat and the cream Converses.

Sighing, he nodded. "Right. And how am I then supposed to talk to _Martha_?"

She lifted an eyebrow and shrugged. "Ask _John_. Otherwise, I have a Room of Truths in my TARDIS."

He frowned. A Room of Truth was Valeyard equipment, a remnant of the age his mother had come from. Hybrid tech, it merged Time Lord and Antarian technology, forcing anyone within the room's boundaries to answer any given question or statement with the bluntest of honesty. "I am not one of your convicts, Janayi."

"No, you're something way worse. You're my offspring," she grumbled.

He sighed, blushing. "Beating an army of Daleks and Cybermen is child's play compared to dealing with women," The Doctor muttered to himself.

"The problem are not women, but you and your inability to look into a mirror other than for shaving," she shot back. "Get it into your thick Gallifreyan skull, that woman is _good_ for you. Want a comparison just how good?"

"Please?!"

Now it was the Professor's turn to sigh; she took him by the chin and looked him into the eyes. "She could be to you what your father was to me. If you let yourself for once. And…" she smiled softly, "if you don't believe you deserve it… believe you can't give her what she wants… how about the fact _she_ deserves it? And stop making assumptions about her wishes. _Ask her_."

He looked her in the eyes. "Her being what father is to you is what I worry about." His eyes showed the pain he always kept hidden. "We both know my… record… How everyone I've ever gotten close to leaves me. They get killed, grow too old, or just decide enough is enough… I'm afraid to go through that with Her."

"I told the same _shit_ your father when he pursued me – it would never work, I was too much a Valeyard, he would get hurt, I wouldn't age etc. For 100 years. Didn't stop him to get me to say 'yes'. And if you continue to be, as Illarion put it so aptly, a pompous ass, you will lose her before you ever had her, she will walk away because _enough is enough_. You are belittling and underestimating her strength. For someone who is such a fan of humans, that is somewhat idiotic." She glared. "And by the way, I am still here, so your statistic is crap anyway."

"So I get a few decades of happiness for centuries of loneliness?" The Doctor asked. "The difference between her and _janayika_ is that he was a Time Lord."

"I have been accused of being a fan of Antarians. But in this one, I have to agree with them. Time is not important in matters of the hearts. Only _life_." She let his face go and reached into her pockets. "Remember the prophecy of Kaletiel?" She held out a small crystal slab, the offending words right into his face. "There was a line, which, according to the comment, describes one Martha Jones, and her fate. If you let her: _Child of Assiah, Child of Assiah no longer, Walking Maiden, Child of Gallifrey, Chosen One_." She pocketed the crystalline tablet pc again. "Pop quiz. What is my major qualification, and which device allows a changing of species?"

"Healer Geneticist and Chameleon A–" The Doctor stared at her with eyes wide. "You… you can…"

"Yes. But that is her decision. For later. Now, you have to go for even ground _first_." She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You are my son, and no child-of-my-blood was born a coward. Yes, there is loss, and terrible pain… but wouldn't the prize be worth it all?" With that, she left him behind, entering the cottage.

**The Doctor The Doctor The Doctor The Doctor The Doctor The Doctor The Doctor The Doctor The Doctor The Doctor The Doctor The Doctor The Doctor  
**

Alone, the Doctor stood in the rain as bewildered and conflicted as a wet cat.

_Can this really happen?_ he thought to himself. _I thought I had given up on such notions long ago... but here I am again_. He sat down on a nearby bench. _Who am I kidding. She wouldn't want this. Sure, my life seems amazing now, but soon she will get tired of it and want to live the quiet life like everyone else… like the life she would have gotten with John. _He leaned back and rubbed his eyes. _Besides, even if she did say yes, can I put her through all this? Can I let her see the deaths of all her friends and family as they suffer the tooth of time? Can I keep putting her through all the dangers I go through. Even if she does agree to everything, do I really deserve it? After all I've done?  
_Giving in, he put his head in his hands. _Either way we both will get hurt. Either due to the lives we live, or due to me being, well, a Grade A pompous ass. What kind of fool am I? What kind will I be, what shall I do?  
_He started wishing he could just use the chameleon arch again and make it permanent this time. _I doubt she'd turn into a Time Lady just for me… what am I thinking? Making assumptions again? So yes, I have a ton of reasons to say no – but then I could just as well __**lie down and die**__. I am rubbish at being alone, as much as at emotion._ He closed his eyes, trying to will away the pain, but it was as if he was caught up in his own storm. _Love, and lose, push away, and lose. What's the gain? In the latter, nothing, the former, a little_… Shocked, he realised that this whole argument resembled rather eerily a 20th century poem he'd read not that long ago. "»It is nonsense, says reason. It is what it is, says love. / It is misfortune, says calculation. It is nothing but pain, says fear. It is hopeless, says insight. It is what it is, says love. / It is ridiculous, says pride. It is careless, says caution. It is impossible, says experience. It is what it is, says love.«" _It is, what it is. What is, is. Mother… why do you always tend to be right? I'm in love – and I have not a single idea what to do to make it right. Apart from asking Martha myself_…_ dare I? Can I?_…

**The Professor The Professor The Professor The Professor The Professor The Professor The Professor The Professor The Professor **

The door clicked closed softly, causing Joan to look up. The Professor stood there, in all her alien glory – infinitely old, and perpetually young at the same time. _At least it's not the Doctor_. She got up and looked out of the window. "It is done?"

"Yes. They will never hurt anyone again," the Time Lady nodded. "Long beyond the day all the stars go out."

"I suppose that is some kind of vow of assurance for your people."

"Yes. The highest I can give."

"The police and the army are at the school. The parents have come to take the boys home. I should go. They'll have so many questions. I'm not sure what to say." Joan turned around. "Oh, you look the same. Goodness, you must forgive my rudeness. I find it difficult to look at you," she admitted, stopping her ramblings. "Professor, I will have to call you Professor. All a story."

"No. A part of me. You said the day before yesterday that my books – and yes, I did write these – seemed to be as if seen through history. Well, it is actually true, I did see their _time_." Stepping in front of the nurse, she held out a hand. "I am here to apologise, for you getting caught up in these events."

"It was not your idea. But he was braver that the Doctor in the end, that ordinary man. The Doctor chose to change. He chose to die." She shook her head. "Just one question, that's all. If the Doctor had never visited us, if he'd never chosen this place on a whim, would anybody here have died?"

"I resent the idea John died, or that we came here on a whim," the Professor chided gently. "John is but a small part of what is the Doctor. And there is a reason for us being here. And I can prove it."

"Oh?"

"Our people can feel, see, and occasionally – depends on the person – hear _Time_. _You_ know _intellectually_ your world turns on its axis – _I_ can _feel_ it. Every waking second, I can see what is, what was, what could be, what must not," she explained, the eyes growing dark. "It is the burden of a Time Lord. When the family came close to finding my son, hidden amongst you, his ship sent for my help. And when they came here, I _felt_ something in _Time_. A hidden fixed point in time – an inevitable event in history. These can be as big as a war, or…" she trailed off.

"What? What was this event that was so inevitable that both of you were drawn here?" Joan murmured bitterly.

"You really are perceptive. As big as a war, or as small as a boy finding a Chameleon Arch watch, gaining visions of the future which will save his life and many others," the Professor finished. "I admit, I had trouble finding the event. The fabric of history in Farringham school is dense and twisted, and thus the event was hidden from my eyes and ears. Only when Tim Latimer came to this cottage, the watch in hands, it became clear." She offered her hand again. "Do you want to see what I see? The sun will rise soon over the horizon before disappearing behind clouds."

"It's different to you, isn't it." Nodding slowly, the blonde took the offered hand. "What now?"

"Look closely."

Joan looked outside, facing east, and gasped. The twilight of the dawn gave way to sunrise, the star just barely peeking over the horizon… but, it was different from what she normally saw. A glowing trail of _something_ was written onto the sky, like a ghost of the sun's rise, and she realised that it was some kind of signature. "What's that?"

"Time signature of the sun's path of vision. I gave you a selected view of what I can see. All the time, no pun intended. Right now, you are seeing where it was, is, and will be," the Time Lady explained. "Given the right kind of knowledge, you can tell apart flux from fixed. And both my son and I have learnt that from age eight on." She let her go. "So, we were here for a reason."

"By god's will, huh?" Joan shook her head. "No, not to you. Different world, different beliefs."

"I will not delve into that particular subject, as it cost my people too much. You can say that, whoever wanted us here, got what they wanted." The Professor shook her head as well. "If it is any comfort, I can tell you something about yourself."

"You can see the fu–" She stopped herself. "You can, just not all of it."

"Especially not my own. And it's more the hearing that does the job. If you want me to."

"Will they be alright?"

The Professor closed her eyes, delving deep into time. "Don't worry about the school, they'll be fine." She opened them again and faced the nurse. "Furthermore, so will you. It will take a while, but you'll be fine."

Surprised at the honest assurance, Joan nodded. "Thank you. _Professor_."

The woman from Gallifrey bowed. "It was my pleasure, Miss Redfern." In a whirl, she swept out.

* * *

It was still drizzling when the two Chronarchs returned to the TARDIS, now parked where the scarecrow that the Doctor mended used to stand. Martha awaited them. "How was she?"

"She's fine," the Professor nodded. "Or technically, she will be."

"Right then. _Molto bene_," the Doctor intoned, indicating the end of the adventure. "Time we moved on."

"Are you sure? I mean, I could go and–"

"I think you two have your own issues to work on, so yes, time we moved on," the Professor interrupted the younger woman.

"About last night…" Martha began.

"Can we talk later? This is too important," the Doctor stopped her, shaking on the inside. "Way too important."

"Okay…"

"Fine."

"So here we are then," she stated.

"Yes, here we are," the Doctor finished, not looking her into the eyes.

"You … wouldn't happen to have no memories of your time as John, right?" she asked hopefully.

"That's one of the things we can talk about hanging in the vortex. I'd rather don't stand for that in the pouring rain," he answered, fidgeting. But then, he faced her again. "I didn't have the time last night. So I never said: Thanks for looking after me." He hugged her, maybe a little too tightly for it being a mere friendly hug.

_Stop being a coward, Theta_, the amused voice of his mother called into the ether. She had stayed a little behind, letting the two friends-or-so have their moment. _And thanks for the show!_

_Janayi… _

Just then, Timothy Latimer came up the hill behind them. "Doctor. Martha. Professor."

"Tim-Timothy-Timber!" the two Chronarchs exclaimed, grinning.

"I just wanted to say goodbye. And thank you. Because I've seen the future and I now know what must be done." He paused, frowning. "It's coming, isn't it? The biggest war ever."

"You don't have to fight," Martha told him.

"I think we do."

"You could get hurt," the Professor warned.

"So could you two, one travelling with him, the other doing the same things as him, and it's not going to stop you," the boy lifted an eyebrow.

_Impressive_.

_Truly._ Making a decision, the Doctor pulled out his own Chameleon Arch watch. "Tim, I'd be honoured if you'd take this." He held it out on his palm.

Grinning, Tim took the contraption, and frowned. "I can't hear anything."

"No, it's just a watch now. It served its purpose, all it contained is back where it is supposed to be," the Doctor smiled. "But keep it with you, for good luck."

"Besides, no watch on this world will ever be as precise as _that one_," the Professor grinned, placing her hand on top of it. A faint glow enveloped the hands of Time Lady and schoolboy for just a second. "And that's from me."

Tim was astonished to say the least, for now, he could hear a faint echo of the Professor herself. "What is that?"

"You're a telepath, but you can't control it. So, the watch will teach you to do so… and our language," the Valeyard smiled, stepping back.

"I'll keep these words close to my heart," the boy promised.

Martha hugged him goodbye, placing a kiss on his cheek. "Look after yourself."

The time travellers entered the TARDIS, the Doctor being last. "You'll like this bit," he grinned, closing the door after himself.

Tim grinned as he finally saw with his own eyes how the TARDIS dematerialised.

* * *

Inside, the Doctor was having a hard time _not_ to start whining. "_Janayi_, you have your own TARDIS!"

"And you are not going anywhere or anywhen until you've faced that _damn mirror_, son," the woman glared, having hijacked the controls of the ship. "Besides, she won't go anywhere, or will you, beautiful?"

"Not a chance in the Nine Hells, my thief," the Avatar of the TARDIS stated behind him, causing him to jump. With Martha's help, the sentient ship had chosen the appearance of a dark-haired, fair-skinned pretty woman in a dark blue dress.

Martha didn't know if she should laugh out loud, shake her head, break out into tears or just collapse from exhaustion. The whole situation was just too surreal. Another version of the Doctor – apparently, made up of his emotions – had fallen in love with her, and now, the Doctor's _mother_ and his _ship_ were ganging up on him on the issue.

"And what am I supposed to do?"

"How do you feel, _taruelai_? How do you _feel_? Just for once in the last few centuries, act how you _feel_, not what your overdeveloped Gallifreyan mind tells you," the Professor argued.

"How do I feel?" he muttered. "How do I feel…" The two women inched closer, waiting for his answer. "I feel… I feel like…" The words wouldn't come out, no matter how hard her tried. Only one thought came to mind. "This," he reached over and kissed Martha square on the full lips.

Nearly automatically, Martha responded, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him closer. Before, kissing John had been a little awkward on both sides, with the man acting a little inexperienced, less demanding than his Time Lord self had been in the Royal Hope hospital. But, unlike the 'genetic transfer' (and a part of her began to doubt that it was the only reason for that), this was not cut short, more explorative, as if learning the lay of the land; the man's fine, long-fingered hands were doing the same with her jawline and cheeks as he cradled them. She took the invitation and took control, doing a little exploring of her own, taking in the feel of his thin lips, the strong jaw, and the man's soft hair. A tongue suddenly nipped at her lips, begging entrance. Without hesitation, she opened her mouth to him.

The Doctor couldn't help but _moan_ as his tongue came in contact with hers, and she matched him every second. Truth was, ever since the Royal Hope (genetic transfer? Seriously? There are easier ways to do that!), a _big_ part of him had wanted to do it again. Repeatedly. The same part had wondered how she would taste, and was met with immense pleasure to find out it was a mix of dark chocolate and, strangely, limes, but overlaid with something intoxicating, something so quintessential _Martha_ he had no name for it.

Boy, the man could kiss. Martha lost herself in it. It was steamy, demanding and passionate, setting every nerve end on fire, yet she could still sense that it had an element of exploration to it, and… was there the element of "finally" too? She had fantasised a _lot_ about that mouth of his, but none of her thoughts even came close to the sensations. In tune with his body temp, it was a lot cooler than what she was used to, but that made it way more sensual all the same. And oh, the taste… As they finally came up for air, she licked her lips, remembering it (she wondered though if Time Lords could kiss all they wanted with that respiratory bypass). Something awfully, intoxicatingly sweet and alien, mixed with cinnamon and spice, and something that was just _him_. "And… what… was that?" she panted.

The Doctor leaned against her forehead, breathing in her scent, reminding him of the sweet grass of his ancestral lands. "Would it be wrong to say I don't really know?" His eyes darted to the side. "Mother… is gone."

"Well, she got what she wanted. Just tell me one thing. What does this mean to you?" she whispered.

"_Everything_," he answered sincerely, grateful for the serving. "You asked if I remembered being John… truth is, my mother did tell you the truth. John and I, we are, at the core, the same person – what I feel, he felt. But he didn't have to suffer my thoughts and defences and coping mechanisms, and thus, he pursued freely what he felt. You, Martha Jones, are _everything_ to me… and that's why I am not sure if I should do this." He stepped back, rifling his hands through his hair. "I… I. Rassilon, this is hard. I wanted to do that so often for so long already, and I always deny myself, out of fear…" He wandered around, frustration clear in every move. "I am a Time Lord, Martha. I am 902 – that's early middle age, about some bloke who's 40 among humans. And my family is long-lived too. Barring any accidents, I am going to live up to 13.000 or so, more if my mother fixes my Restoration abilities. All I've ever known with people is loss. And honestly? I don't know how much more I can take." He shook his head. "At the same time, a big part of me wants this," he gestured between them, "so badly he'd tear stars apart for the chance." He smiled painfully. "I'm at war with myself. Remember when John drew you?" She nodded slowly, pulling out the drawing. "The thing that slipped through from me to him in that moment, that was _You are so beautiful_ by Joe Cocker…" He barely suppressed the blush threatening to spread on his face. "I… I just don't know what to do! I'm sorry to bring her up, but it's just the most recent example, Rose promised me a _forever_ and the next day I lost her, and oh, it was a horrible way to lose someone, and… I was blind with grief after that, even dealing with the Racnoss on Christmas didn't help… and then I met you. Brilliant, beautiful, brave Martha Jones. And you proved it to me, so many times, for the person I am right now, you are perfect. I can run with you, not worrying about my back, because you are there, I can be _me_… and then, when I indulge these thoughts too long, I catch myself at thinking that I am betraying Rose. But, as everyone around me says, I cannot help how I feel. So what am I supposed to do–"

Martha had crossed the distance between them in a flash and kissed him, silencing his worries. "I take it you worry about you not being able to give me a normal life. And I admit freely, the vision you and I had of such a life was more than just tempting…" she stopped, rephrasing, "But if I was put before the choice, I'd rather have lived with you, without all these things… than never having lived with you." She smiled. "Besides, who says that in the future, you won't be able to? Your mother is scavenging historical _technicalities _to rebuild, so you won't be the Last to put out all these small fires out there. And as long as you have to, I'll help. If you let me."

He reached over and took hold of her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. "I would love to try," he whispered, pulling her into his chest. "Can't promise it will always be safe. but I can promise it will be an adventure."

In the TARDIS kitchen, the ship avatar and the Professor grinned at each other like the cat with the canary. The Time Lady couldn't help it; she drowned her laughter in her teacup. _Omnia vincit amor_.

******DW****DW****DW****DW****DW****DW****DW****DW****DW****DW****DW****DW****DW****DW****DW****DW****DW**

1985  
Brigadier Sir Timothy Latimer, KCB, ret., listened only with half an ear to the female vicar reciting Laurence Binyon's _For the Fallen_ at the Remembrance Ceremony of Llandaff Cathedral, Cardiff, his eyes rather focussed on the old but still pristine watch in his gloved hands. His thoughts turned inwards – his son didn't have had much thought for attending the ceremony (which he could actually understand, given the man had endured World War II as a submarine hunter), and so his eager grandson had taken him, wheelchair included, to the cathedral in the vicinity of his home. But, unlike the last year, he just couldn't seem to focus on the ceremony, as if something was lying in the air…

He looked around, and was actually not exactly surprised to see the Doctor, the Professor and Martha standing on the other side of the courtyard. Martha just finished pinning a red poppy to the Doctor's lapel, wearing one herself, while the Professor had chosen to wear a red poppy-adorned hair tie. He couldn't help it; he smiled at them, then blinked. _Don't you dare crying, old boy_. Focussing, he sent his invitation out in the ether, and smiled as he received a nod from the two Time Lords.

_Grandson?_ the Professor's voice called him, both from the watch, and the actual source. Her eyes darted to the young man pushing Tim's wheelchair.

_Yes. He knows the tale. See you later_.

* * *

**AN: Mother's Poem by courtesy of Matt Wilson (mattwilson dot deviantart dot com) from The NH Chronicles, Ch 133, cover art. I am not Erich Fried, and the translation of his poem "Was es ist" is by M. Kaldenbach (Google).**


	4. Two: Light my Fire

**AN: Brief respite – it's 1969!**

* * *

**Two: Light my Fire**

_"Cum tacent, clamant." (For while they are silent, they exclaim.) – Cicero_

_There are no more annoying creatures than Weeping Angels_, Martha decided sourly as she made it to her and the Doctor's flat, having found a job finally. It was Day Three of their enforced sojourn to the year 1969, and the Doctor spent most of his time trying to build some kind of detector which would allow him to track down time travelling activity in the area. From spare parts. _At least, he cooks, and pretty good_, she snickered at the thought. For someone who insisted on not doing domestic (which she suspected having to do with the way potential in-laws tended to treat him, and being used to a very different society), he was more than good at pulling off the stunt. It was just a week since their time in 1913, and the fateful kiss in the Console Room, and thus, with their history, they were treading lightly, it being a little high in soul-searching for such a young relationship, and light on the whole romance side. _Then again, this relationship comes with more issues than most, and not all are his_, she shook her head as she turned the key in the lock. "I'm home!" She immediately noticed three things: The place was immaculately clean (it was still ratty though), the Doctor was _not_ moping around the living room, and an irresistibly delicious smell permeated the air. Walking into the kitchen, she noticed that something apparently sat in the oven.

She nearly jumped when the Doctor came up behind her, hugging her to his chest. "Welcome home," he smiled into her hair, pressing a kiss on the top of her head. "Hungry?"

"Ravenous," she admitted, surprised as he went through all the motions – taking her jacket, pulling out her chair at the kitchen table (which was set properly, and wiped spotless), and finally, presenting her with a serving of Lasagna alla Calabrese. "You didn't have to do all this. Cleaning this place, dinner…"

"Maybe. But I wanted to," he grinned crookedly, sitting down at the opposite side of the table. "I mean…" he sighed. "We tripped the Angels deliberately to get past that madness, and all I do is moping about being tied down, alternating with laying my biography at your feet, and then moping even more. And you… you go and…" He stopped before he could manage to make it sound wrong again. "The least I can do for you is showing you how much I appreciate _you_."

She smiled, bending over the table to press a kiss to his lips. "Thank you." After dinner – it was something akin to a mystery how he managed to make good food (mostly stews and casseroles) out of what they could afford – he insisted on cleaning up, telling her to take a shower instead and meet her at the door. Standing under the spray, she couldn't help but wonder about his total turnabout in behaviour towards her, although she knew that a good deal came from the fact that the TARDIS used her newfound ability to project an avatar to nag her favourite thief to no end. Just after they had returned from 1913, just before the insanity with four things and a lizard when Sally Sparrow had handed them the folder, he had admitted that a part of him had actually trouble with women who didn't _need_ him constantly: a Grade A irony if you took into account who gave birth to him. _That's actually maybe why – they never measured up_. Sure, it was easier for him to be the needed party – saving damsels in distress and what not – but, as he said himself, he was well aware it wasn't what _he_ needed, not in the long run. On top of that, he still didn't know what to do about them, but, as tonight showed, he was willing to try. Finishing, she redressed and got to the front door.

The Doctor awaited her in his coat, and held out her jacket. "Miss Jones, will you accompany me on a walk?"

Smiling, she slipped into the garment and took the offered arm. "Mister Smith, I will."

Strangely enough, the place they had managed to get was in the London Docklands, just off the Isle of Dogs, an irony both had taken with a swell of semi-hysterical laughter, both for the same reason (pretty much). He hadn't told Martha the details of that doomed day yet, but, with being in viewing distance of what would become Torchwood HQ, the memory was there, and, with Martha's insistent, stubborn nature making up for the lack of familial telepathic-empathic bonds, he knew that telling her was as sure as a fixed point in time. Shaking off the gloomy train of thought, he led them down to the Thames. With a smirk, he made a game out of pointing out places which didn't exist yet, but were well there in Martha's time. Quickly, she picked up the trail, and thus he started pointing out places which were _not _there any longer while she pointed at places which would come to be. Finally, they reached a bench on the river bank and sat down, as close as it was possible without her sitting in his lap. "I'm glad you're here with me."

"You'd go nuts alone, wouldn't you?" she teased, leaning into him as he put an arm around her.

"And worse. And I am not sure if Rose could have handled me here, or in 1913," he admitted, surprising himself. Being free of his Time Lord burdens for two months had been an eye opener to say the least. "You however, you did that with beauty and grace." He kissed her gently on the lips.

"You're welcome," she grinned. "Why do you think that though?"

"Let's say I was about as silly as it can get with her after regenerating into this form," he shook his head. "She was so _young_. And she never made a point to _understand_. Neither what I do, or what I am." He frowned. "You do understand I am not human, don't you?"

"You're mother said it, I'll repeat it. You're rubbish as a human. You are The Doctor, a _Gallifreyan Time Lord_, and that means you are different from what I am. I got that the moment you survived a 5000% Roentgen radiation output and made a fuss about burning out your sonic."

"Oh? I thought the two hearts gave it away."

"There are more possible reasons to that than being an alien," she countered. "I'm a med student."

He chuckled, knowing exactly which kinds of conditions she meant. "True enough."

Night fell, and they went back to the flat, and back to a slightly awkward situation. I. e.: The sleeping arrangements. "So," he said.

"So."

"I…" He made antics to walk to the living room again (which couldn't be comfortable given his height).

Placing a hand on his arm, she stopped him. "You can stay. I won't mind. Besides…" Martha blushed. "I really don't want to be alone."

He dropped the blanket and wrapped her in his arms. "You don't have to."

2

On Day 10, Martha had the day off, and they found out that the half-finished 'Timey-wimey detector' (a name which was more or less a rather horrid translation of a Gallifreyan generic term for temporal incidents) had the side effect of boiling eggs due to the spare parts of an egg boiler being used, and that at a speed it caused the eggs to explode. They spent the day in Hyde Park, first walking, and, after some rather racist idiots made the mistake of a few misplaced remarks, sitting on a park bench, engaged in a rather scandalous session of PDA, just to say "Screw you".

* * *

On Day 32, the finished detector (now containing parts of a telephone, a radio, a video projector and the egg boiler) went off, and they found DI Billy Shipton, just zapped from 2006, sliding down the wall.

"Welcome," the Doctor grinned, the phone handset against his ear as they approached him.

"Where am I?" the black police officer groaned.

"Nineteen sixty-nine," the Time Lord answered. "Not bad, as it goes. You've got the moon landing to look forward to," he continued nonchalantly.

"Oh, the moon landing's brilliant," Martha grinned. "We went four times, back when we had transport," she shot her, well, significant other, a pointed look. It had been a spectacularly frustrating day for both of them (and it didn't help that certain tensions weren't resolved yet – the detector just _had _to go off in that very moment).

"Working on it," he defended. It wasn't like he didn't understand her frustrations – they were his own! Tied down, no transport, and being _interrupted_ the moment they… well. It was somewhat of a miracle he had managed to put on his tie straight again.

The pair confused the _hell_ out of Billy. "How did I get here?"

"The same way we did. Touch of an angel," the Doctor mused, climbing through the metal cordon to sit down beside him. "Same one, probably, since you ended up in the same year." As Billy got ready to get to his feet, the Time Lord stopped him with a hand on his shoulder before sitting down. "No, no. No, no, no, don't get up. Time travel without capsule or shields. Nasty. Catch your breath. Don't go swimming for half an hour."

Shaking his head, Billy stuttered, "I don't… I can't…"

"Fascinating race, the Weeping Angels," the Doctor mused. "The only psychopaths in the universe to kill you nicely. No mess, no fuss, they just zap you into the past and let you live to death. The rest of your life used up and blown away in the blink of an eye. You die in the past, and in the present they consume the energy of all the days you might have had. All your stolen moments. They're creatures of the abstract. They live off potential energy."

"What in God's name are you talking about?" Billy groaned again. He felt like he'd been run over by a bus while having a hangover the size of New Scotland Yard HQ.

At the familiar reaction, Martha couldn't help but grin, despite the sexual frustration. "Trust me. Just nod when he stops for breath out of common courtesy. It takes long to get used to it to make sense."

"Tracked you down with this." The Doctor held up the red casing of a radio, filled with the rather mad assortments of spare parts, including, oddly enough, a postcard. "This is my timey-wimey detector. It goes bing when there's stuff. Also, it can boil an egg at thirty paces, whether you want it to or not, actually, so I've learnt to stay away from hens. It's not pretty when they blow."

"I don't understand. Where am I?"

"1969, like he says. Just opposite of Canary Wharf," Martha summarised.

The Doctor sighed. Now came the part he really would prefer to avoid, but that was a paradox for you – either follow the order of things or end of the universe when you didn't have a time breaker on you. Which he definitely didn't – the last he met was his mother, a fixed point in fate (which was a half-fixed point in time, a _sine qua non_). "Normally, I'd offer you a lift home, but somebody nicked my motor. So I need you to take a message to Sally Sparrow. And I'm sorry, Billy. I am very, very sorry. It's going to take you a while."

2

After managing to get Billy set up in a spare flat under the roof of their tower block, two highly frustrated time travellers shuffled back into their own flat. Martha had barely time to lock the door behind them before she was downright assaulted by the Doctor, who pressed her against said door, his arousal evident against her stomach. Not that she complained – she was too busy snogging him senseless. A breather, and she managed to peel off both his jacket and his coat (her jacket had been the first to go); then, she pulled off his tie, sending it flying. While he kissed, sucked and bit along her jawline and neck, she unbuttoned his shirt, hoping to get at the cool, freckled skin below, and was met with a brief sense of frustration as she found his purple t-shirt underneath it instead. It didn't stop her though, hands pushing and roaming over him while she sucked at his clavicles. Only when her hand made contact with the door handle, she couldn't help the thought that they never made it far past the entrance, and snickered against his skin.

Ticklish as he was, he stopped at the sensation; it sent shocks through his body. Struggling, he tried to have his brain catch up with the rest. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just… the front door?"

He laughed. "Trust me, after the last few days, that's pretty much of an afterthought." Nonetheless, he turned her around, kissing her again.

Day 33 was a Sunday, and if one would have entered the tiny flat in Canary Wharf, one had a pretty good guess of what happened at night, with a trail of clothing leading straight from the front door to the only bedroom. Martha woke up just in time for the Doctor to walk in, carrying a breakfast tray, earning him a good-morning-snog.

2

On Day 38, they recorded the Easter Egg.

"Just a question. What kind of paradox is this anyway we're living through?" Martha wondered.

"Oh, why in all of time… Temporal Mechanics is not my specialty, but then again, those whose it is suffer from perpetual scatterbrain…"

"Sorry to say that, Doctor, but you are pretty scatterbrained too."

"Not as much as a Valeyard. Well, I think you lot call it a Bootstrapper's paradox. It is like a Predestination paradox, but unlike that, the timeline loop is not caused by the actions of a time traveller, but the existence of an object or information," he explained, wrapping an arm around her midriff. "In our case, Sally Sparrow's folder."

"That reminds me, we still have to write on that wall in Wester Drumlins. Do you think the Angels will be there?"

"I don't think so. Otherwise, there would be far more reactions on the Timey-wimey detector," he shrugged, pulling out a few spare pounds. "Let's get some paint and some really hideous wallpaper."

* * *

On Day 92, the detector went off just after dinner and some more horizontal dancing.

A Bing! announced another temporal event, but somehow, even Martha could tell that this one was different. And it was _not_ the fact the Doctor was practically tumbling out of the flat. "It's the TARDIS, isn't it?" she called as they raced down to the backyard.

"Only a ship running on vortex energy causes that big a reaction," he called back, and stopped dead in his tracks as the familiar blue box materialised in front of them. Dropping the now meaningless detector, he hugged the blue box. Well, attempted to. "Rassilon I missed you."

Martha laughed and joined him, hugging a corner of the time-and-space-ship, and was rewarded as the wood warmed under her touch. "Good to see you again, old girl." Letting go, she turned around. "I'll pack up and cancel–"

The Doctor stopped her with a hug from behind, kissing the top of her head. "I'll do that. You go and have a nice long soak."

Turning around, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Feel free to join me later," she winked.

2

_15 minutes to terminate and move out a flat. That's got to be a record_, the Doctor grinned inwardly. Deep down, he knew it was due to the special motivation from Martha. Dumping the bags in the console room (if he knew one thing about his TARDIS, it was her tendency to control the living arrangements), he snuck into Martha's bathroom.

When they finally left the bath, they didn't end up in Martha's room again. "Err…" Martha wasn't sure what to make of the TARDIS' intentions, for the room they were in was definitely the Doctor's suite, well-ordered chaos, upstairs study and all. What was different was that now an ebony dressing table set occupied a corner of the room, her hairbrush, toiletries and jewellery box sitting on top of it.

The Doctor looked around, taking in the changes, and smiled gently. It felt good with the feminine additions, more complete, not as empty as before, when his only mistress had been books and longing. He walked over to the walk-in wardrobe, and was not really surprised to see the originally empty right-hand shelf now occupied by Martha's clothes, her shoes lining up on the ground. Turning around, he grinned. "Looks like the TARDIS made up our minds for us."

"You don't mind?" She still had somewhat the feeling of being an intruder.

"As I told you before, I love you, and as I have next to zero of an idea what to do about it really, I'll just go with what I feel," he smiled. "Come here, you." Enveloping her into a hug, he buried his face in the crook of her neck. "This room was lacking things for far too long. And to be honest, as long as it lasts, I wouldn't like to stay in here alone anymore. Do you like it?"

"I love it," she smiled into his robe. Feeling a little bold, she pushed him towards the bed, causing him to fall backwards onto the sheets. "And I love you, Theta."

Reaching out, he pulled her down to kiss her. "I love you too, Martha Jones."

* * *

**AN: Review Please! Next one up end of this week: Days of Reckoning!  
**


	5. Three: Days of Reckoning I

**AN: Welcome to the final parts of the first part of this serial - the three episode story which concluded Series 3, with quite a few twists.  
Therefore, here comes my Utopia…  
Enjoy now, Days of Reckoning! (Please review)  
**

* * *

**Three: Days of Reckoning I**

_"Stultorum plena sunt omnia." (The world is a madhouse.) – Cicero_

Cameo: Torchwood 3, End of Days.

3

The terrible night was over, the enemy defeated, Cardiff and the Earth (relatively) safe again, and the current Torchwood 3 knew now the leader of the Institute was an immortal. Essentially, Group Captain Jack Harkness, 51st century Time Agent, American volunteer and the universe's biggest human flirt _was_ Torchwood, and they were the manpower behind him. Gwen sat in her boss' office at the edge of his desk, watching the impossible man going through files. Even after a rollercoaster year working for him, she couldn't quite wrap her mind around his existence, much less his motivations. Sure, he was brave, honourable and impeccably loyal, dedicated towards the code of Torchwood, but there was always something off, as if he was waiting for something. Or someone… "What's happened to the rift?" she asked, trying to engage him.

"It closed up when Abaddon was destroyed. But it's gonna be more volatile than ever," he mused.

"The visions we had. We all saw people we loved. What did you see?"

"Nothing." Jack shook his head. "There was nothing."

Finally, she asked the question she really wanted to. "Jack… what would have tempted you? What visions would have convinced you to open the rift?" _What is it you are waiting for here?_

"The right kind of Doctor," he answered promptly, getting up and leaving the office.

"Jack…?" She hated it when he gave her _that_ particular answer. Again. Sighing, she leant back.

3

Jack marched through the main room of the hub. "Where are they with those coffees?" he snarked. Just as he reached the spot between the rift manipulator and the storage tanks, one of them beeped, stopping him in his tracks. He took a good look at _the hand_ in the tank: It was pulsing. Getting closer, he checked it, hoping it wasn't some kind of false alert, but then, his advanced senses heard it – a whooshing, grinding noise that could only be one thing in the universe. At the same time, an unnatural wind blew downwards into the hub, ruffling Jack's hair and blowing the loose papers off the workstations. He smiled with joy and, looking to the side, he grabbed a backpack and the container before Gwen would notice he was gone, rushing to the emergency staircase. _Doctor! _

3

Meanwhile, one Time Lord and his beloved landed their mutual friend, home and time-space-craft on Roald Dahl Plass. "Where are we?" Martha wondered. They had spent the last few days on a resort planet, spending their time with running a marathon or similar adrenaline-pumping activities as much as with being pampered in a spa and of course, make love as if it was the end of the universe, all to escape the severe case of cabin fever and memories of hideous sixties wallpaper they had had to suffer the last few months.

"Cardiff," the Doctor answered, flipping switches and pushing buttons in his usual performance (one really couldn't call it flying when you did the job of six people alone, which required the use of both hands spread thin and at least one foot).

"Cardiff?!" She had been to Cardiff once – it _was_ lovely, but why would _they_ come here of all places?

"Ah, but the thing about Cardiff, it's built on a rift in time and space, a Vortex Rift to be precise. It's just like California and the San Andreas Fault, but this rift bleeds Vortex energy. Every now and then I need to open up the engines, soak up the energy and use it as fuel," he explained with the matching hand gestures.

It clicked. "So it's a pit stop," she grinned.

"Exactly. Should only take twenty seconds." Sensing something in time, he looked up. "The rift's been active."

"Wait a minute. They had an earthquake in Cardiff a couple of years ago. Was that you?" she wondered.

"Bit of trouble with the Slitheen," he mused. "A long time ago. Lifetimes. I was a different man back then. That was my previous regeneration."

"I take it Rose was around?"

"Yep," he confirmed, remembering their agreement – stay honest, _especially_ about Rose.

3

Unknown to them, a man in a RAF greatcoat was racing across the Plass, a heavy backpack on him. It was Jack, having bested his own personal record of running the 105 steps of the fire escape of the Hub up to the Plass – the only way up faster than the invisible lift and past his team without being seen. _You're not getting away without me this time!_ "Doctor!" he shouted, still running.

3

Getting back to the captain's chair, the Doctor checked the gauges. Enough energy for another two years of flying, barring anything extraordinary. "Finito. All powered up."

Suddenly, the scanner switched to visual, showing Jack racing at them. _Get that wrong thing away from me!_ the TARDIS yelled at him.

_Already on it!_ The Time Lord pulled the handbrake, starting the dematerialization process, but Jack took an almighty lunge at the ship. The moment the immortal man crashed into the ship, one of the circuits at the top of the Time Rotor went bang, and the two travellers were thrown to the floor.

"Whoa! What's that?" Martha called, pulling herself up on the console.

The Doctor scrambled to his feet, turning the scanner towards himself, ducking several times under showers of sparks. "We're accelerating into the future. The year one billion. Five billion. Five trillion. Fifty trillion? What? The year one hundred trillion? That's impossible!"

"Why? What happens then?!"

Total bewilderment covered his features. "We're going to the end of the universe."

3

Outside, in the time vortex, Jack was hanging onto the TARDIS for dear life or one of his, in a pose comically resembling the Doctor's hug of the sentient ship not that long ago. "Doctor!" he shouted again, the sound drawn out.

* * *

Finally, the TARDIS stopped, more with a dong/crash than her usual thumping sound. "Well, we've landed," the Doctor stated quietly, looking up at the rotor.

"So what's out there?" Martha frowned.

He shook his head. "I don't know."

Martha's eyes widened. "Oh, say that again. That's rare."

"Not even us Time Lords came this far. We should leave. We should go. We should really, really go…"

Simultaneously, they broke out into identical manic grins and raced each other to the doors. The environment they ended up in resembled a quarry. Just a few metres from them though, Jack was lying on the ground. "Oh my God!" the med student exclaimed, running over to the officer's prone form, and checked for life. "Can't get a pulse." Jumping back to her feet, she turned back to the TARDIS. "Hold on. You've got that medical kit thing."

The Doctor approached Jack far more carefully. "Hello again. Oh, I'm so sorry, old friend." He turned away in sorrow.

Martha returned, the emergency bag in her hand. "Here we go. Get out of the way," she ordered, kneeling by his side. "It's a bit odd, though. Not very hundred trillion. That coat's more like World War II."

"I think he came with us," the Time Lord answered.

She checked Jack with a stethoscope. "How do you mean, from Earth?" It confused her: he had repeatedly explained that no humanoid life form based on more than 80% matter – humans and Time Lords alike – could survive the Time Vortex very long, so how…

"Must have been clinging to the outside of the TARDIS," he concluded, shooting his ship a look. "All the way through the vortex. Well, that's very him." He shrugged.

Pulling out the ear pieces, she turned around. "What, do you know him?"

"Friend of mine. Used to travel with me, in my last regeneration," he admitted.

"But he's. I'm sorry, there's no heartbeat. There's nothing. He's dead," Martha whispered. Just in that very moment, Jack came back to life with a huge gasp and grasped for the first thing in range – which was Martha. "Oh, so much for me. It's all right. Just breathe deep. I've got you."

In an automatized reaction, Jack turned on his charm factors by 500% output and flashed his best grin at her. "Group Captain Jack Harkness. And who are you?"

"Martha Jones."

"Nice to meet you, Martha Jones," he smiled, reaching out. But before the Captain could touch her face again, he found his wrist in the iron grip of one very jealous Time Lord. Jack caught the older man's icy glare and nodded, having received the message. _Don't you dare._ "I was only saying hello. How was I supposed to know?" _Taking a sniff would have done it I suppose, but then again, I was fucking dead!_ Remedying the lapse, he scented the pair, and chuckled internally. _Oh dear. He's **all over her**. And hers clings to him like **syrup**_.

Realizing what was going on, Martha smiled. "I don't mind." _Score for Martha and her ego_. Together, they helped Jack stand, and the Doctor stepped back.

Jack finally faced the Time Lord eye to eye. "Doctor."

"Captain."

"Good to see you," Jack stated flatly.

"And you. Same as ever. Although, have you had work done?" the Doctor asked in a conversational tone.

"You can talk," he shot back.

The Doctor paused for a second, not making the connection immediately. "Oh yes, the face. Regeneration. How did you know this was me?"

Jack waved his head at the TARDIS. "The police box kind of gives it away. I've been following you for a long time. You abandoned me," he accused.

"Did I? Well, moving on."

Seeing he wouldn't get an explanation right now, Jack turned to another subject that laid heavily on his mind. "Just got to ask. The Battle of Canary Wharf. I saw the list of the dead. It said Rose Tyler."

"Oh, no! Sorry, she's alive," the Doctor smiled, causing a similar reaction in the Torchwood leader.

"You're kidding!"

"Parallel world, safe and sound. And Mickey, and her mother."

"Yes!" Laughing in relief, Jack hugged him fiercely.

"Good old Rose," Martha shook her head. Well, it was to be expected if the Captain originally knew the 9th Doctor and not the 10th. "How about we take a look around?"

In answer, the Doctor let his friend go and turned towards the lower parts of the quarry. "Well then. _Allons-y_."

The two humans trailed behind him. "So how did you leave him?"

"Well, as I said, he left me behind," Jack answered. "To be fair, I think for a moment he believed me dead."

"When, where?"

"Well, do you know what Daleks are?"

"We had a run in with the Cult of Skaro a while ago I'm afraid," Martha shuddered. "I don't know what's worse, them and their war-waging, or the fact that apparently some folks out there seem to have trouble to take them seriously due to their looks."

Jack laughed. "I know what you mean. To be fair, I can see where they come from. Anyway. My run-in with them was on Game Station, far into the future, well, your and my future. So there I was, stranded in the year two-hundred-one-hundred, ankle-deep in Dalek dust, and he goes off without me. But I had this," he held up his left wrist. "I used to be a Time Agent. It's called a vortex manipulator. He's not the only one who can time travel."

"Oh, excuse me, that is not time travel." the Doctor pointed back at Jack, offended. "It's like, I've got a sports car and you've got a space hopper."

"Oh ho. Boys and their toys," Martha laughed.

Jack ducked his head, conceding. "All right, so I _bounced_. I thought, 21st century, the best place to find the Doctor, except that I got it a little wrong. Arrived in 1869, this thing burnt out, so it was useless."

"Told you," the Time Lord sniped smugly.

"I had to live through the entire twentieth century waiting for a version of you that would coincide with me," Jack finished.

"But that makes you more than one hundred years old," Martha said. For all she could tell, Jack was very much human, so…

"And _looking good_, don't you think?" he grinned. "So I went to the time rift, based myself there because I _knew_ you'd come back to refuel. Until finally I get a signal on this," he pointed at his backpack, "detecting you and here we are."

"But what's the matter with you and him, Theta?" Martha finally addressed him.

"Not now, _lairelai_," the Doctor stopped, turning around to shoot them an incredulous look. "You two! We're at the end of the universe, right? Right at the edge of knowledge itself and all you can keep talking about is manic old me!?" He shook his head. "Come on."

* * *

Inside the silo, Martha mulled over the whole thing that everything was dying now; that time killed everything, even this world (and that for some reason, the Doctor wasn't sure if Jack could freeze to death). But it had been a strange thing, because, when she herself had looked into the darkened sky, she could swear she had seen, just for a second, the constellation of the Scorpio and another, smaller one just off where the Libra used to be, shimmering in the heavens, as if waiting for something and hiding until then. _How can they still be there_? she wondered as they followed young Creet through the corridors, looking for the family of the man they'd saved outside, Padra Shafe Cane. "It's like a refugee camp," she frowned.

Jack wrinkled his nose in disgust. Not even the dead of the World Wars had managed to stink like that in his opinion. "Stinking. Oh, sorry. No offence. Not you."

The Doctor chuckled, knowing where the 51st century man came from. "Don't you see that? The ripe old smell of humans. You survived. Oh, you might have spent a million years evolving into clouds of gas, another million as downloads, and even 'ascend', as Antarians call it, to a higher plane of existence for a while, but you always revert to the same basic shape. The fundamental humans." He waved at the crowded corridors. "End of the universe and here you are. Indomitable! That's the word. _Indomitable_! Ha!"

In the next corridor, Padra got lucky, and was reunited with his mother and brother. The latter immediately showed up on Jack's radar, who greeted him with a smile. "Captain Jack Harkness. And who are you?"

"Stop it," the Doctor glared. "Give us a hand with this. It's half deadlocked. I need you to overwrite the code. Let's find out where we are."

Shaking Beltone Shafe Cane's hand, Jack turned to the Time Lord and helped him with the sealed door… only to find themselves halfway up a giant rocket silo. And, in typical Doctor-fashion, said Time Lord nearly fell in if not for Jack. "Gotcha."

"Thanks," he answered sheepishly.

"How did you cope without me?" the ex-Time Agent joked.

"Now that is what I call a rocket," Martha breathed.

"They're not refugees, they're passengers," the Doctor concluded.

"He said they were going to Utopia," the young woman remembered.

"The perfect place. Hundred trillion years, it's the same old dream." He turned to Jack. "You recognise those engines?"

"Nope. Whatever it is, it's not rocket science. But it's hot, though."

"Boiling," the Doctor agreed. They stepped back, closing the door again. "But if the universe is falling apart, what does 'Utopia' mean?"

* * *

The old man who'd dragged them off, Professor Yana, was a somewhat unusual fellow, stellarly brilliant, but a little without hope. And unfortunately, the system he had built was simply put something the Doctor had never seen before, and that said something for someone who at least managed to keep maintenance on Antarian biotech like an avatar module (which followed about the same logic as a symphony – the Space-weavers used music as base science, and numbers to _dumb it down_). "I'm not from around these parts. I've never seen a system like it. Sorry."

"No, no. I'm sorry. It's my fault. There's been so little help," Yana sighed.

They were interrupted by Martha, who finally got around to pull out a transparent container from Jack's backpack. "Oh, my God. You've got a hand?" It was the mystery alien hand from the Hub. "A hand in a jar." Pointing at it for emphasis, she continued, "A hand, in a jar, in your bag."

The Doctor rushed over, not quite believing it either as he squatted down, facing the container on eye level. "But that-that-that's my hand," he stuttered, wondering all the same where the _hell_ Jack got that particular piece of him!

"I said I had a Doctor detector," Jack smirked. _Never said though what kind of, or how I got it_… _Thanks Yvonne!_

Chanto, Yana's Malmooth (humanoid-insectoid) assistant and lab partner was rather confused, for what she saw contradicted all she had learnt about humans and the likes so far. "Chan, is this a tradition amongst your people, tho?"

"Not on my street," Martha answered, before rounding on the Doctor. "What do you mean, that's your hand? You've got both your hands, I can see them."

"Long story. I lost my hand Christmas Day, in a swordfight," he dismissed. "Trouble with the Sycorax…"

Martha frowned, trying to correlate that story with what she had learnt of Time Lord physiology so far (that e-book was massive). "But not even you can regrow body parts… unless… Did you regenerate just before that happened?"

"Pretty much. Was still within the 15 hours," he confirmed. "So yeah. I grew another hand." He waved with the new right. "Hello." Then, he smiled. "You've become good with that."

"I'm the one patching you up when you forget yourself, I have to."

The whole insanity had spiked Yana's curiosity. "Might I ask, what species are you?"

The Doctor straightened himself. "Time Lord. One of the last, other one's my _mother_, The Professor… Heard of them? Legend or anything? Not even a myth?" Yana shook his head. "Blimey, end of the universe is a bit humbling…" A thought occurred to him, and he decided to put it to a test. "Maybe you don't know us under that particular name… what about Chronarchs? Time-Weavers?" Both earned him blank stares, and he tried one last. "Keepers or Children of Time?"

_That_ phrase caused a reaction in the young Malmooth. "Chan, this is known to me, tho. Chan, however, the phrase is now Children of Time _and_ Space, tho."

"What does that mean?" Jack asked no-one in particular.

The Doctor shot Martha a look, who nodded in slight understanding. "It means Time Lords have joined forces with the Antarians, the space-weavers. Makes sense – end of the universe after all," he mused. He shot Chanto a look. "I'm sorry, but I didn't quite catch your name."

"My assistant and good friend, Chantho. A survivor of the Malmooth. This was their planet, Malcassairo, before we took refuge," Yana introduced.

"The conglomeration outside, that was yours?" the Time Lord asked.

"Chan the conglomeration died tho."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Jack answered.

"Same here," the Doctor added, catching the warning in his human companions. Now was not the time to wax lyrical about something.

"Chan most grateful tho."

"15 hour cellular regenerative energy reserve, and you grew another hand," Martha lifted an eyebrow. "What compelled you to lose it in the first place?"

"Challenged the Sycorax leader to a one-on-one fight for planet Earth, I told you about that." Seeing her lifting an accusing eyebrow, he conceded and got up to face her. "Okay, I forgot to mention the hand." Using the regrown right, he took her hand and squeezed gently. "It's fine. Look, really, it's me. New hand, but still me."

Smiling, she squeezed back. "It's one thing to read it. It's another to _see_ it."

"Chan, you are most unusual, tho."

"Well," the Doctor shrugged. His father, the Keeper, once had regrown one arm and one leg after a lab accident, so it wasn't that much actually.

Jack turned to Yana. "So what about those things outside? The Beastie Boys. What are they?"

"We call them the Futurekind, which is a myth in itself, but it's feared they are what we will become, unless we reach Utopia."

"And Utopia is?" the Doctor asked.

"Oh, every human knows of Utopia. Where have you been?" Yana frowned in confusion.

"Well, I did say, I am _not_ human. Bit of a hermit."

"A hermit with friends?"

"Hermits United. We meet up every ten years and swap stories about caves. It's good fun, for a hermit. So, er, Utopia?"

3

In another display of his usual brilliance, the Doctor managed to actually get Yana's system up and running, causing a flurry of activity in the silo, with everyone boarding as quick as they could. The activity in the lab was no less hurried, as the Doctor and his companions as well as Chantho and Yana worked at top speed to get the starting procedures going.

3

In a moment of tranquillity, the Doctor sniffed one of the strange wires he was connecting to the neutralino map, and stared at Yana in disbelief. "Is this?"

"Yes, gluten extract. Binds the neutralino map together," Yana confirmed.

The Time Lord wasn't sure what to make of that; then again, he lived in and flew a colony of _coral_, and Antarians built/grew most from some variety of animated carbon. "That's food. You've built this system out of food and string and staples? Professor Yana, you're a genius."

"Says the man who made it work," the old man dismissed.

"Oh, it's easy coming in at the end, but you're stellar. This is, this is magnificent. And I don't say that often," the Doctor corrected him.

"Well, even my title is an affectation. There hasn't been such a thing as a university for over a thousand years. I've spent my life going from one refugee ship to another."

"If you'd been born in a different time, you'd be revered." Yana chuckled in dismissal. "I mean it. Throughout the galaxies."

" Oh, those damned galaxies," Yana sighed. "They had to go burn out and collapse. Some admiration would have been nice. Yes, just a little, just once."

"Well, you've got it now. But that footprint engine thing. You can't activate it from onboard. It's got to be from here. You're staying behind, aren't you?" The Doctor lifted both eyebrows.

"With Chantho. She won't leave without me. Simply refuses."

_Why does that sound familiar? Oh, right, you tend to inspire that kind of loyalty too_… "You'd give your life so they could fly."

"Oh, I think I'm a little too old for Utopia. Time I had some sleep," Yana smiled tiredly.

"_Professor, tell the Doctor we've found his blue box_," Lt. Atillo called through the intercom.

"Ah!"

"Doctor?" Jack called, causing the Gallifreyan to move over. He pointed at the monitor, clearly displaying the TARDIS.

"Professor, it's a wild stab in the dark, but I may just have found you a way out," the Doctor grinned, patting the man's shoulder.

3

Moving the TARDIS to the laboratory, the Doctor connected its energy reserves to Yana's footprint system to speed up the process. But the real trouble came up only minutes later as the radiation control was destroyed by a Futurekind woman who had snuck into the silo. In a spectacular display of his worst habit, Jack pulled out two high-yield power cables, making a decision only he would even consider, all for overriding the vents. "We can jump start the override," he called, putting the cables together. He started to scream as electricity coursed through his system.

"_Don't! It's going to flare!_" the Doctor yelled, too late. The override was done – and Jack broke to the floor, dead.

It had been not enough. Jate simply evaporated, leaving behind his clothes.

Martha sprinted over to Jack's prone form. "I've got him." She started CPR.

"Chan, don't touch the cables, tho." Chantho threw the still crackling cable aside.

"I'm so sorry," Yana said.

The Doctor stood in the background, the mind already plotting ahead. "The chamber's flooded with stet radiation, yes?"

"Without the couplings, the engines will never start. It was all for nothing," Yana lamented.

"Oh, I don't know," the Doctor stated enigmatically, squatting down beside Martha. "Martha, leave him." He took her gently by the shoulders, pulling her back to her feet.

"You've got to let me try," she protested.

"Come on, come on, just listen to me. Now leave him alone," he advised her, then turned to Yana. "It strikes me, Professor, you've got a room which no man can enter without dying. Is that correct?"

Yana snorted. "Yes."

"Well…" Just then, Jack took a huge gasp and came back to life. Again. Causing Martha to stare at the man on the floor with utter bewilderment. The Doctor took off his glasses, pocketing them. "I think I got just the man."

Tasting something on his lips, Jack asked the first thing which came to his mind. "Was someone kissing me?!"

Martha laughed.

3

_Just like old times_, Jack thought grinning as he ran to the control room, side by side with the Doctor. Back then, he had been the one of both companions at least half-way capable of keeping up with the Time Lord… but it seemed that this version of him was even _faster_, both physically and mentally. He had to give it all to not be left behind, and it was exhilarating. (Compared to that, Torchwood seemed a little dull, since they did most work by car.) Coats flapping, they stormed the room.

"Lieutenant!" the Doctor yelled, gaining the attention of Atillo. "Get on board the rocket! I promise, you're going to fly."

"The chamber's flooded," Atillo frowned.

"Trust me. We've found a way of tripping the system. Run!" Atillo didn't need any other invitation, and left. Meanwhile, Jack had stripped off his coat and vortex manipulator, and as the Doctor finally took notice, he was at his shirt. "W-what are you taking your clothes off for?"

Jack flipped his braces back over his t-shirt. "I'm going in."

"Well, by the looks of it, I'd say the stet radiation doesn't affect clothing, only flesh."

"Well, I look good though." Jack ran to the coupling chamber and stopped, turning around again. "How long have you known?" he asked, the question of questions for him.

The Doctor faced him in regret. Jack was still his friend, no matter what had become of him, and he deserved the truth as much as everyone else, maybe even more. "Ever since I ran away from you. Good luck."

Jack entered the chamber and closed the door quickly, singeing his fingertips as he touched the hot interior. Then, he went on to the couplings.

Sadly, the flare Jack had caused had fried the visual communications, reducing them to audio as Martha called them. "_Doctor, are you there?_"

The Doctor pressed the reboot key as well, not getting a picture either. _Damn_. "Receiving, yeah. He's inside."

"_And still alive?_"

"Oh, yes."

The rest of the conversation drowned out a little to the Doctor as he walked back to the window to the couplings chamber. Aiming his sonic at the monitor, he tuned up the audio feed so Martha would hear what was to come – the reality behind Jack. "When did you first realise?" he asked the ex-Time Agent.

"Earth, 1892. Got in a fight in Ellis Island. A man shot me through the heart. Then I woke up. Thought it was kind of strange. But then it never stopped. Fell off a cliff, trampled by horses, World War One, World War Two, poison, starvation, a stray javelin."

"Ooh!" The Doctor made a pained face in sympathy.

"In the end, I got the message. I'm the man who can never die. And all that time you knew," Jack finished with gritted teeth – despite him being him, the constant self-healing was a little strenuous, and manually tripping the power couplings didn't help.

"That's why I left you behind. It's not easy, even just…" The Doctor rubbed the back of his head, part embarrassment, part apology. "Just looking at you, Jack, 'cause you're _wrong_."

"Thanks," the man hissed.

"You are. I can't help it." He turned to the side for a second, trying to collect his thoughts. "I'm a Time Lord, Jack. It's instinct. It's in my guts. You're a fixed point in time and space. You're a fact, a universal fact. Can't even count as human any longer. That's never meant to happen. Even the TARDIS reacted against you. Tried to shake you off. Flew all the way to the end of the universe just to get rid of you."

"So what you're saying is that you're, err," Jack finally managed to turn the third coupling, tripping it, "prejudiced?"

The Doctor smiled. "I never thought of it like that."

"Shame on you," Jack grinned accusingly.

"Yeah." He rubbed his eyes.

3

In the lab, Martha was indeed listening to the two (near-)immortal men, and what she heard was as funny as it was sad. Jack was the Doctor's friend, a former companion, but despite the Time Lord's obvious caring for the human ex-Time Agent, it was apparently a conscious effort to not run away from him because of what Jack had become. Even if logically, as an immortal _fact_, as the Doctor called him, Jack was probably the best kind of companion the jeopardy-prone Time Lord could have. _How_… _well, probably that's the next part_.

3

"Last thing I remember, back when I was mortal, I was facing three Daleks. Death by extermination. And then I came back to life," Jack retold as he pulled out the next power coupling. "What happened?"

"Rose happened," the Doctor stated simply.

"I thought you'd sent her back home."

"She came back. Ripped open the heart of the TARDIS and absorbed the time vortex itself." He still wasn't sure about _that_ particular stunt of Rose – sure, it had saved their lives, but… it had condemned them as well. Jack had become a fact, and he had lost another regeneration (although he couldn't complain about finally reaching _perfect form_). _Rollercoaster girl, that was Rose_.

"What does that mean, exactly?"

"No one's ever meant to have that power. When Antarians harness bigger portions of that power, it's used by over a hundred people and a ton of machines as not to let the energy run wild, lest it is one of the sovereigns, but they're not normal," he explained. "If a Time Lord did what Rose did, he'd become a god. A vengeful god. But she was human. Everything she did was so human. She brought you back to life, but unlike a Time Lord or an Antarian, she couldn't control it. She brought you back forever. That's something, I suppose." He leaned against the doorframe while Jack struggled with Coupling No 4. "The final act of the Time War was life."

"Do you think she could change me back?" Jack wondered.

"I took the power out of her," the Doctor shook his head. "She's gone, Jack. She's not just living on a parallel world, she's trapped there. The walls have closed. And without FTL travel, she won't get near anyone who can open **gates**."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well."

"I went back to her estate, in the nineties, just once or twice. Watched her growing up. Never said hello. Timelines and all that."

"Do you want to die?" The Doctor fixated his old friend with a serious stare.

"Oh, this one's a little stuck," Jack deflected, still struggling with the coupling.

"_Jack_."

Smiling painfully, he replied, "I thought I did. I don't know. But this lot. You see them out here surviving, and that's _fantastic_."

The Doctor grinned together with his old friend, especially at the catchphrase of his last version. "You might be out there, somewhere."

"I could go meet myself."

"Well, the only man you're ever going to be happy with."

Jack chuckled. "This new regeneration, it's kinda cheeky."

"Hmm…"

The final coupling slammed down. "Yes!"

"Now! Get out of there, come on!" The Doctor picked up an old-fashioned phone handset. "Lieutenant, everyone on board?"

"_Ready and waiting_."

"Stand by. Two minutes to ignition."

"_Ready to launch. Outer doors sealed_."

The computer started the countdown, causing the men to flurry around, flipping switches and pushing buttons. "Ah, nearly there. The footprint, it's a gravity pulse. It stamps down, the rocket shoots up. Bit primitive. It'll take the both of us to keep it stable," the Doctor explained to Martha as she skidded into the room.

Not deterred, Martha stopped him. "Doctor, it's Yana. He's got one of these watches. It's the same as yours and your mother's. Same writing on it, same _everything_."

"Don't be ridiculous," he breathed in disbelief.

"I asked him. He said he's had it his whole life."

"So he's got the same watch," Jack shrugged. Big deal. Ianto had the same mug as him.

"It's not just a watch, Jack. It's a Chameleon Arch Fob Watch," she insisted. "It's not tritanium unlike yours, but it's the same. There is this device, this thing on board of every TARDIS, it can change the species of Time Lords."

"Usually, it changes a Time Lord into human; the watch is a storage device for the memories, Artron energy and biodata," the Doctor explained. "Are you really sure?"

"I can't read it, but it looked nearly exactly the same, even given that The Professor's was black and blue," Martha stressed.

"It can't be," he whispered.

An alarm blared. "That means he could be a Time Lord. You might not be the last one," Jack realised.

"I am not, technically, but I was never good with technicalities. I'm no Valeyard," the Doctor dismissed. "Jack, keep it level!"

"But that's brilliant, isn't it? There is one who survived the actual war, like you!" Martha interjected.

"Yes, it is. Course it is. Depends which one. Brilliant, fantastic, yeah," he rambled. "But all that is left of my generation is ashes. They died, all of them. Or got stuck in time, out of reach for anyone who is not called The Professor."

"Not if he was human," Jack gave back, remembering his lessons in the Time Agency Academy. A Time Lock was very specific after all.

"What did he say, Martha?" Agitated, he got into her face and yelled, "What did he say?"

"He looked at the watch like he could hardly see it," she answered, counting to ten in her head. His distress hung in the air like storm clouds. "I think it has a perception filter on it."

"What about now? Can he see it now?"

"I… I don't know… oh my god. We've been babbling key phrases around him all the time!"

The Doctor shuddered, then turned to Jack. "We're on a schedule still. Get me the ignition keys."

The countdown was down to the last fifteen seconds.

Jack fetched the two keys from the other end of the control room. "If he escaped the Time War, then it's the perfect place to hide. The end of the universe."

Martha fixed her beloved with the same, wide and horrified eyes as his. "Think of what the Face of Boe said. His dying words. He said…"

_Three, two, one_.

The Doctor turned the keys, sending the rocket to Utopia. "'_**Y**ou **A**re **N**ot **A**lone_'. Y-A-N-A…" he whispered in realization as his eyes came into contact with the monitor again, displaying the old man's name. "I thought he meant _Janayitrita_, but…" He took a few deep breaths, trying to keep his cool. "More pressing matters first…" He picked up the phone again. "Lieutenant, have you done it? Did you get velocity? Have you done it? Lieutenant, have you done it?"

"_Affirmative. We'll see you in Utopia_."

"Good luck." He hung up. "Let's go." But before they could leave the control room, the door slammed shut into their faces. Quickly, he drew the sonic, getting to work. "Get it open! Get it open!" he yelled at Jack, who furiously hacked through the layers of deadlock code.

Finally, the door slid open, but the short route to the lab was blocked by a mob of Futurekind. "This way!" Jack yelled, remembering the long way round from the schematics. He took the lead.

Chased by the savages, they raced back, and were met with… another locked door. "Professor! Professor, let us in! Let us in! Jack, get the door open now!" He drew the sonic again, starting their routine anew. "Professor! Professor, where are you?! Professor! Professor, are you there? Please, I need to explain. Whatever you do, don't open that watch!"

By now, Jack had finished cracking the deadlock, and so, the Doctor worked frantically getting the mechanical parts unlocked. "Hurry!" Martha yelled.

"Open the door, please! I'm begging you, Professor. Please, listen to me. Just open the door, please," the Doctor pleaded.

Seeing they wouldn't make it in time, Jack drew his gun and smashed the door controls, unlocking the door… just in time to see Yana dropping to the floor in front of the TARDIS.

But before the Doctor could reach him, the old man slipped backwards into the ship, slammed the door closed and blocked the lock against key entrance. Hearing the Doctor's signature tool against the lock, the other Time Lord stumbled towards the console and flipped two switches. "_And deadlocked_," he whispered.

_No, no, no! This can't be happening!_ "Let me in. **_Let me in_!**" the Doctor yelled, hammering against the doors in panic. He stepped, nearly jumped back.

Behind him, Martha checked on the still body of Chantho. "She's dead."

Jack had very different troubles though. "I broke the lock. Give me a hand!" he called at the others. Martha left Chantho behind and went back to the door, helping him.

"I'm begging you. Everything's changed! It's only the three of us! We're the only ones left alive and free! Just let me in!" the Doctor yelled.

Inside the TARDIS, the other Time Lord struggled to stay upright, fuming. "Killed by an insect. A girl. How inappropriate." Making his way around the console, he felt the familiar buildup of Artron energy coursing through his body. "Still, if the _Doctor_ can be young and strong like his time-forsaken abomination of a mother who fails to die, then so can I." He smirked. "The Master… _reborn_." Reaching into the energy, he let it loose, triggering the regeneration.

Outside, the Doctor watched in horror as the all-too-familiar glow of a regeneration shone through the windows, and hearing the other man's new voice screaming. _Of all the Time Lords in the Universes, it just **had** to be him?!_

Jack and Martha still fought with the door – the Futurekind had reached the lab, and was trying to force their way past the Torchwood leader holding the door closed. "Doctor! You'd better think of something!" he yelled.

Suddenly, a voice drifted through the TARDIS' external speakers. "_Now then, Doctor. Ooo, new voice. Hello, hello, hello_," the Master tested out the sound of his new tenor voice. "_Anyway, why don't we stop and have a nice little chat while I tell you all my plans and you can work out a way to stop me? **I don't think.**_"

Martha looked up, startled. "Hold on. I know that voice."

"I'm asking you really properly. Just stop. Just think!" the Doctor begged.

"Use my name."

_It had to be the only Time Lord about as kaput in the head as Rassilon without Omega, didn't it?_ "Master. I'm sorry," he whispered.

"_Tough_!" the Master snarled, starting up the TARDIS.

"I can't hold out much longer, Doctor!" Jack pleaded.

The Doctor however extended his screwdriver into remote control mode, trying to stop the TARDIS from leaving.

She wailed in his mind. _Help me, help me, Doctor! I hate him!_

_On it!_ He tried it with force, frying the main control circuits, to no avail.

"_Oh no, you don't!_" The Master pulled the handbrake, severing the energy flow from the sonic to the console. "_End of the universe. Have fun. Bye, bye!_" He cut the speakers.

"Doctor, stop him!" Martha yelled. The two humans still fought with the door, and so she changed pleas. "Help us. They're getting in!"

Before the horrified eyes of the Doctor, his beloved TARDIS dematerialised. _No_…

* * *

TBC in Days of Reckoning II


	6. Four: Days of Reckoning II

**AN: Here we go again. The outrageous drama that always happens when the Master is around. "The Sound of Drums", with a few twists and extras.**

* * *

"Oh no, you don't!" _The Master pulled the handbrake, severing the energy flow from the sonic to the console. "_End of the universe. Have fun. Bye, bye!" _He cut the speakers._

"_Doctor, stop him!" Martha yelled. The two humans still fought with the door, and so she changed pleas. "Help us. They're getting in!"_

_Before the horrified eyes of the Doctor, his beloved TARDIS dematerialized. _No…

**Four: Days of Reckoning II**

"_Silent enim leges inter arma." (Silent are the laws amongst weapons.) – Cicero_

"_Theta!_" Martha's desperate voice cut through the Doctor's haze. "Theta, help us!"

In a book-perfect about face, he turned towards the door and pushed; then, he grabbed Jack's wrist and opened the flap of his vortex manipulator. "Hold still!" he ordered, beginning to work on it with the sonic. "Don't move! Hold it still!"

"I'm telling you, it's broken. It hasn't worked for years," Jack argued.

"That's because you didn't have me." Pocketing the tool, he put both his and Jack's hand on top of the device. "Martha, grab hold, now!"

With everyone holding on to the manipulator, they vanished, and reappeared on top of the silo mountain, out of view from the futurekind. "Why did you bring us here, and not back to Earth?" Jack cracked his neck and shoulders.

"Ow my head."

"Travelling through the vortex without capsule or Chronos shielding, that's a killer," the Doctor muttered. "I may, just may be able to get us back to the right time, but I'd rather not risk bouncing." Pulling out a small data crystal, he handed it to Jack. "Can you connect your manipulator to this and send a cross-temporal signal?"

"Sure, but who is it going to?" Jack pulled out a small cable from the device and connected it to the all-purpose plug on the back, causing the crystal to glow mauve and the device to beep.

"There are only two working and used TARDISes in existence. One just got stolen…" Whoosh-whoosh-vorp-whoosh, and a door appeared in front of them, this time looking as if it had bought its outfit in the boutique of a (neon green) fly agaric on an LSD trip. "The other is my mother's."

The door opened, and the Professor walked out, an incredulous look on her face. "What in Omega's name are you doing at the _Time of Reckoning_?!"

"I thought that was a myth, a fairy-tale you tell little children," the Doctor replied sheepishly. "You're telling me it's true?"

"Look up, and really, _look_. All of you. They say to be careful what you wish for, but…"

They did as she said, and Martha gasped. "I thought I had been seeing things… how can they be still there?"

"The Scorpion and Kasterborous, the Eighteen and the Seven," Jack whispered. "It's like Chantho said. Children of Time and Space."

The Doctor stared into the dark sky. "All these centuries I thought it to be just a story. It says, 'when all matter has burnt out, the _Keepers of Time and Space_ would call all that survived until that day to a special place, and then unmake all that is but what they own, in order for everything to be reborn.' This is…"

"The Time of Reckoning, Operation: Great Reset. Freeze your core systems in a Chronon/creation loop making them stuck into the same year, so they won't be affected. Reverse the echo-remnant of the Big Bang, the first spark – dark energy – and poof, everything matter, including dark matter and singularities evaporates back to energy, ready to condense into new matter. They had 100.005 Trillion years to plan it," the Professor dismissed. "Worked out all the risks, got out all the errors, protected themselves from the stunt. Now. Why in the Nine Hells are you at the Time of Reckoning, and why is your TARDIS gone?"

Not able to help himself, the Doctor pointed at Jack. "He jumped the TARDIS."

Martha couldn't help it. She laughed, causing the men to stare at her. "Sorry, sorry. I'm sorry, but, the image…"

"_Hey_!"

The Professor laughed as well. "Remind me to draw that. But, it explains a few things – your TARDIS is not comfortable with universal facts, is she. Where did you find him anyway?"

"1941, during the London Blitz. Tried to con me with a Chula ambulance full of unprogrammed nanogenes," the younger Time Lord explained. "Ended up as a fact in the year 200.100 due to an encounter with the Bad Wolf entity."

"The Time Vortex consciousness? Which idiot…" She stopped herself, listening to Jack's (lack of) temporal output. "Don't tell me it was her."

"I would be lying. And we have other problems. Big problems. The Master stole my TARDIS."

"_Koschei_?" The Professor scowled at his expression. "Come in. We can talk in the Vortex."

"I think we should…" Jack _jumped_ back as she glared at him. "Or we can hang in the vortex and think of a proper plan." _Old eyes. __**Really**_ _old eyes!_

4

Following her inside, they watched as she launched the TARDIS into the Time Vortex, and started a few scans. "If we are at the Days of Reckoning, there should be a signal to a safe planet protected from the Reset chain reaction."

"The silo we were on top on, the humans in it were going to 'Utopia'," Martha answered. "Could that be it?"

"Utopia?" The Professor chuckled, especially as the holographic HUD showed the results. "Look at that. It's so typical for the Queen of Dreams."

The Doctor and Jack checked the transcript of the modulating message. "A one-hundred stanza song, irresistible even as 'just' a signal," Jack finished. "And I think we haven't introduced ourselves yet. Group Captain Jack Harkness," he smiled.

"The Professor, Lord High Valeyard of the Seven, Head of House Lungbarrow, and his," she waved at the Doctor, "mother. And you can try all you like, I won't even react."

"Don't worry. I am not so callous to hit on a widow who's clearly still grieving." Jack shook his head. He might be a flirt, but he had his ethical standards. Among them was "don't take advantage".

"Thank you."

"'Come to Utopia. Witness the New Time.' Kaletiel's song, all across all of reality, calling the survivors. Queen of Dreams, the great siren, the Grand Herald of Creation," the Doctor mused. "What's that signal?"

"I figured that if the Master had hidden here – by the way, how did he do that, use the Chameleon Arch or what? – his TARDIS must be around somewhere, and that's her locator signal," she pointed at the screen, where a sequence of numbers pointed out the presence of another TARDIS. "Locking on, Valeyard Protocol 27 – TARDIS scoop No. 4."

"We're at the end of the universe, an apparent madman got Theta's TARDIS, and you want to scoop up another TARDIS?" Martha gaped.

"And have a cup of tea, some time to think. Unlike the Doctor, I can get us where and when I want to accurately."

"_Tea!?_" the trio exclaimed. They got no answer – the woman was in full Valeyard mode, hands downright dancing over the console.

"_Scoop complete_," the TARDIS Avatar finally reported. "_I put my little sister into the hangar._"

"_Molto bene_," the Professor smiled, but then scoffed at their flabbergasted faces, pulling the handbrake again. "_Il n'y a aucun problème si grande ou grave qui ne peuvent pas être beaucoup diminué par une bonne tasse de thé_." She left the console room.

They followed her in stupor. "Wasn't that Heroux?" Jack asked. "And why didn't we hear it in English?"

"It was," the Doctor confirmed. "And my mother has a tick, she keeps the language circuits off. Keeps her language skills sharp."

"_There is no trouble so great or grave that cannot be much diminished by a nice cup of tea_," Martha translated as they entered the Professor's library. "You really believe…"

In answer, the Time Lady pointed at the lounging set in the middle – a "Kosmos High" by 'extremis', Belgium. "Sit, and wait. I'll be right back."

Much to their embarrassment, not even ten minutes later, they had proven the Belgian 1900's philosopher very right, and they had relaxed into the set, surrounded by the sweet scent of Illawarra tea. "What now?" Martha wondered, reaching for another sandwich.

"Whatever the Master is planning, it's not good. We need to go after him," the Doctor sighed, munching on a banana-and-cream-cheese sandwich, an arm around Martha.

"I agree, but I _suggest_ you all have a good night's sleep," the Professor snarked lightly. "I doubt we will have much once we start."

Jack nodded grimly. "That's a given."

* * *

One and a half relative days later, in a soft whirl of air, a tall black filing cabinet materialised in an alley, standing innocently against the wall of one of the houses. The rolling flap opened, and out came the Doctor, Martha, Jack, and finally, the Professor: It was her TARDIS. "Well, here we are. Do you have everything?" The tall woman was dressed into a knee-long white jacket with black trimmings and a black standing collar with golden and silver embroidery – the uniform of the Lord High Valeyard, as usual with black pants and sonic boots. Closing the rolling flap, she threw on her cream coat to cover the ghostly ensemble.

"I think so," the Doctor nodded.

"Same here."

"All I need I have on me," Jack shrugged.

"Good, because I am going to send her away. I can't risk that idiot getting his filthy halfling hands on _my TARDIS_," the tall woman flipped her own wrist computer open and pushed a few buttons. Closing the roll flap, she flipped it closed again, and twisted the two outer rings clockwise, causing the vessel to vanish. "Done. He would be suicidal to try to get her now."

"Where did you send her, if I may ask?"

"Antarian Military Archives, Slot 25-45-001. Also known as the Reality Observatory."

The Doctor stared at his mother in utter disbelief. "That-that-that's…"

"Kaletiel's realm, yes. I still am the Lord High Valeyard, technically. Hence, I have access. Now, let's go."

They entered the main road. "Still, at least we made it. Earth, twenty first century by the looks of it. Talk about lucky," Jack grinned.

"That wasn't luck, that was me," the Professor dismissed. "Or do you mean the stunt which put you on top of the silo?"

"That, yes. How come you can land that precisely anyway? He never did that."

"His TARDIS is an observer type. And a bigger cloudcuckoolander than both of us together. It's meant to be manned by six people at once. He's flying alone, turning it into a performance," she shrugged as they sat down around a public sitting area.

"Ah. The moral is, if you're going to get stuck at the end of the universe, get stuck with an ex-Time Agent and his vortex manipulator," Jack tapped the device mounted on his wrist.

"But this Master bloke, he's got the TARDIS. He could be anywhere in time and space," Martha argued.

"No, he's here. Trust us," the Doctor shook his head.

"I tracked the TARDIS here. He's here," the Professor agreed.

"Who is he, anyway? And that voice at the end, that wasn't Yana," Martha frowned.

"If the Master's a Time Lord, then he must have regenerated. I think Chantho shot him," Jack concluded.

"Great. He's changed his face, voice, body, everything. A new man," Martha shuddered. "Then how are we going to find him?"

The two Chronarchs however paid no attention, as for some reason, the homeless man on the other side of the road, was tapping a peculiar four-beat pattern against his mug. Di-di-di-dum, di-di-di-dum. _Do you hear that, Janayi?_

_I do, Theta. There's something wrong here_. "We'll know. The moment we see him, we'll know," the Professor answered.

"Time Lords always do. And if it fails on me, it won't fail in her case. He can't break Valeyard training," the Doctor shrugged. "She can identify _any_ Time Lord."

"But hold on. If he could be anyone, we missed the election. But it can't be," Martha looked around, spooked. Everywhere, the ads for Saxon (Vote Saxon) were plastered all over the walls and lamp posts.

The Doctor and the Professor stood up in slow motion, facing the public viewscreen showing the news, Martha and Jack following in tow. "_Mister Saxon has returned from the Palace and is greeting the crowd inside Saxon Headquarters_," the anchorwoman intoned.

"I said I knew that voice. When he spoke inside the TARDIS. I've heard that voice hundreds of times. I've seen him. We all have. That was the voice of Harold Saxon," Martha exclaimed, a little panic sneaking into her voice, mixed with disbelief.

"That's him," The Professor confirmed, the eyes turning blue in anger.

"He's Prime Minister," The Doctor breathed. Then, he noticed his mother's eyes. "Calm down, _Janayi_. Your eyes are changing."

"I can't help it. He makes my blood boil." Now, her eyes seemed to _flash_. "The Master is Prime Minister of the UK."

One of the photographers urged the Master to kiss the woman beside him. "The Master and his _wife_?" The Doctor was shocked.

The Master stepped away from his wife and in front of the cameras. "_This country has been sick. This country needs healing. This country needs medicine. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that what this country really needs right now, is a __**Doctor, and maybe even a Professor**_."

The Chronarchs stared at each other, the eyes wide with anger, realization and shock. "Game on. The challenge is issued," the Professor stated grimly.

"It is. And he definitely knows you're here."

4

They raced into Martha's flat. "Home," the young woman breathed.

"What have you got? Computer, laptop, anything," the Doctor demanded. Then, he noticed Jack trying to call someone on mobile. "Jack, who are you phoning? You can't tell anyone we're here." He put on his glasses, signalling his switch to Action mode.

Of course, Jack was in the middle of calling the Torchwood Hub, hoping to get some help. "Just some friends of mine, but there's no reply." He put his mobile away as Martha handed over her laptop.

"Here you go. Any good?"

"I can show you the Saxon websites. He's been around for ages," the Torchwood leader said, taking the laptop from the pair.

"That's so weird though. It's the day after the election. That's only four days after I met you," Martha pondered.

"That's time travel for you, dear," the Professor dismissed. "Mind you, the last two years of the Time War? To me, that were _twenty_ years. That's how long it took to chase that madman into the White Space."

"We went flying all around the universe while he was here all the time," the Doctor pushed his hand through his hair.

"You going to tell us who he is?" the young woman demanded.

"He's a Time Lord."

"Oh please," the Professor scoffed. "He's an overgrown brat with the emotional range of a two-year-old, and the jealousy of a 60-year-old, throwing an eternal tantrum. I think he's still stinging from getting his ears yelled off by me _and_ his father."

"Yeah, well. But that was 900 years ago," The Doctor conceded, but he noticed that her eyes hadn't changed. "Your eyes are still blue, _Janayitrita_."

"If there's a person Koschei hates and admires as much as he hates and admires you, it's cloudcuckoolander _old _me," she sighed. "And you know me. I know what he's _capable of_, and it gets all my alarms ringing, but he doesn't hold a candle to an insane Rassilon under war for me in the fearful person department."

The Doctor sighed again. Daleks, Cybermen, Demons, Despots, monsters – no problem for the two of them. But a Time Lord, a son of House Oakdown of Gallifrey? And as insane as the Master? In peacetime, this would have warranted an _entire squad_ of the Valeyards to be deployed. With the High Valeyard in charge. And a Death Warrant in place. The only thing as dangerous as a psycho Time Lord he could think of was an angry _and_ psycho Antarian Supremacist, like the madwoman who caused the Celestial Civil War. He could see why the only thing the Professor feared were the Master's plans and actions – he _was_ a very low calibre compared to Rassilon, although he never quite understood why his mother feared nothing more than the Designer and Black Holes. _Well, the Master **is** 14.731 years younger than her_.

"What about the rest of it? I mean, who'd call himself the Master? And why does he hate you?" Martha asked.

"More reasons than I can count. And it's not much there is to know about him, _lairelai_."

"It has more to do with what we represent, and the number of times he got stopped by one of us. All that was good and strong on Gallifrey. Remember what people call me?" the old woman reminded her gently.

"Law of Gallifrey," Martha finished. "Oh god."

"Yeah. Same category – The Doctor."

"Anyway. Jack, show me Saxon please," the Doctor cut off.

Martha turned to her answering machine. The only message on it was from her older sister, Tish. "_Martha, where are you? I've got this new job. You won't believe it. It's weird. They just phoned me up out of the blue. I'm working for_–" She cut it off. "Oh, like it matters."

Jack showed the two Time Lords first a few ads for the election, which were surprisingly devoid of politics, and then the actual page. "Former Minister of Defence. First came to prominence when he shot down the Racnoss on Christmas Eve." He turned to the Doctor, who sat now on the sofa. "Nice work, by the way."

"Oh, thanks."

"Rose further when he stopped a pride of Almatian Tigers. Was that you?" Jack asked the Professor.

"I was lucky. Usually, one hunts these beauties in a group – but these were actually pets. Domesticated," the woman shrugged. "Approached right, they're just big kitties. Watchcats for telepaths. All you need is some catnip."

Martha took control of the laptop. "But he goes back years. He's famous. Everyone knows his story. Look. Cambridge University, Rugby blue. Won the Athletics thing. Wrote a novel, went into business, marriage, everything. He's got a whole life."

_These slogans give me the creeps, taruelai. 'Trust me'_.

_True. They don't make sense from a political point of view, janayi_. "Let me have a look. Would you make some tea please?"

"Sure." Jack vanished into the kitchen and made four mugs of tea. "But he's got the TARDIS. Maybe the Master went back in time and has been living here for decades," he called.

"No," the Doctor denied, taking his feet off the desk when Jack returned with the mugs.

"Why not? It worked for me," the ex-Time Agent wondered, remembering his version of the 20th century.

"When he was stealing the TARDIS, the only thing I could do was fuse the coordinates. I locked them permanently. He can only travel between the year one hundred trillion and the last place the TARDIS landed. Which is right here, right now."

"Yeah, but a little leeway?" Jack turned to the other Chronarch, who furrowed her brow in thought.

"Eighteen months. Tops, the most he could have been here is eighteen months," the Time Lady answered finally.

"So how has he managed all this? The Master was always sort of hypnotic, but this is on a massive scale," the Doctor wondered.

"Technology? Use something to project your presence all over the country. I've seen the likes for transmitting disaster alerts on other worlds," the Professor mused.

"Same here," Jack nodded.

"I was going to vote for him," Martha said suddenly.

"Really?" The Doctor was a little astonished.

"Well, it was before I even met you. And I liked him," Martha explained.

"Me too," Jack admitted.

"Why do you say that? What was his policy? What did he stand for?" the Doctor demanded to know.

Jack took a breath, but didn't answer. It seemed odd to him now.

"I don't know. He always sounded good," Martha answered, sounding dreamily, and started tapping that four-beat-pattern. "Like you could trust him. Just nice. He spoke about… I can't really remember, but it was good. Just the sound of his voice."

The Professor narrowed her eyes at the tapping. "What's that?"

"What?"

"That!" the Doctor pointed at her hands, "That tapping, that rhythm! What are you doing?"

Shocked, Martha stopped, pulling her hands off the sofa. "I don't know. It's nothing. It's just, I don't know."

They were interrupted by the laptop playing a fanfare, announcing a Saxon Broadcast on all channels. The Doctor turned on the TV. "Our lord and master is speaking to his kingdom," he snarked.

"_Britain, Britain, Britain_," the Master spoke, sitting in the cabinet room where only an hour ago, he'd gassed the whole cabinet. "_What extraordinary times we've had. Just a few years ago, this world was so small. And then they came, out of the unknown, falling from the skies. You've seen it happen. Big Ben destroyed. A spaceship over London. All those ghosts and metal men. The Christmas star that came to kill. Time and time again, and the government told you nothing. Well, not me. Not Harold Saxon. Because my purpose here today is to tell you this. Citizens of Great Britain, I have been contacted. A message for humanity, from beyond the stars_." He stopped, and his image was replaced with a video, depicting a glittering metal sphere.

"_People of the Earth, we come in peace. We bring great gifts. We bring technology and wisdom and protection. And all we ask in return is your friendship_."

_Rassilon's insane underpants, that's idiotic. The Watcher-Guardians for Earth would never allow this_… the Professor shook her head. _First contact is planned for so around 2080, not earlier!_

_I know that. What is he playing?_

"_They are called the Toclafane_."

"_What?!_" both Time Lords yelled.

The Master continued. "_And tomorrow morning, they will appear. Not in secret, but to all of you. Diplomatic relations with a new species will begin. Tomorrow, we take our place in the universe. Every man, woman and child. Every teacher and chemist and lorry driver and farmer. Oh, I don't know, every_… _medical student?_"

They stared at each other in shock. The Doctor turned the old cathode ray tube TV around to see a (rather obvious) bomb strapped to the back. "Out!" Grabbing the laptop, they ran out into the street, seconds before Martha's flat exploded. "Are you alright, _lairelai_? Jack?"

"Fine, yeah, fine," Jack assured.

He turned to Martha. "Martha?" She was dialling on her mobile. "What are you doing?"

"He knows about me. What about my family?" she asked.

"Don't tell them anything!" the Professor warned. _This game is way too dangerous_.

"I'll do what I like," she glared. "Mum? Oh my God, you're there. – I'm fine. I'm fine. Mum, has there been anyone asking about me? – I can't. Not now. – Don't be so daft. Since when? – You said you'd never get back with him in a million years. – Dad, what are you doing there?" The way her father spoke rattled her cage. _It couldn't be_… "Dad? Just say yes or no. Is there someone else there?" The answer Clive Jones gave shook her world. "Dad? What's going on? Dad?" She snapped the phone closed. "We've got to help them!"

"That's exactly what they want. It's a trap!" the Doctor warned to no avail.

Martha went to her car, leaving the others with no choice but following her. "I don't care." They raced to the Joneses' family home. Not caring about the no-phone law, Martha called her sister. "Come on, Tish. Pick up." Listening to Leticia, she was powerless to hear her older sister being dragged off as well. "What's happening? Tish!" Snapping the phone closed, she accused the Doctor, "It's your fault. It's all your fault!"

They arrived just in time to see Francine Jones being stuffed into a van with Clive. "I was helping you! Get off me!" she protested, not unlike a WWII collaborator. "Martha, get out of here! Get out!" she yelled.

The armed police took positions. "Martha, reverse," the Professor ordered. "Get out, now!"

Making a quick three-point-turn, Martha barely managed to avoid the hail of bullets, although they managed to shoot the rear window.

"Move it!" Jack yelled, and they sped away.

"The only place he can go is Planet Earth. Great!" she snarled.

"Careful!"

Jack, boss of a rather shady group of misfits was already thinking ahead. "Martha, listen to me. Do as I say. We've got to ditch this car. Pull over. Right now!"

4

They left the Corsa in an underpass near a shopping centre. "Martha, come on!" the Doctor urged.

It had started to rain, and Martha was on the phone again. "Leo! Oh, thank God. Leo, you got to listen to me. Where are you? – Leo, just listen to me. Don't go home. I'm telling you. Don't phone Mum or Dad or Tish. – You've got to hide. – On my life. You've got to trust me. Go to Boxer's. Stay with him. Don't tell anyone. Just hide."

"_Ooo, a nice little game of Hide and Seek, I love that. But I'll find you, Martha Jones_," the Master cut in. "_Been a long time since we saw each other. Must be, what, one hundred trillion years?_"

"Let them go, Saxon. Do you hear me! Let them go!" Martha yelled.

The Doctor took the phone from her and took his mother's hand so they could speak as one. "We're here."

"_Doctor_," the Master whispered. "_And from your tone, it's also… Professor_."

"Master," the Doctor acknowledged, barely stopping his mother's sarcasm dripping into his voice.

"_I like it when you use my name._"

This time, it was clearly the Professor speaking. "You chose it. Psychiatrist's field day."

"_As you chose yours. The woman who knows it all and teaches and the learned man who makes people better. __**How sanctimonious is that**__?_"

Unshaken, the Doctor/Professor entity continued. "So, Prime Minister then?"

"_I know. It's good, isn't it?_"

"Who are those creatures? Because there's no such thing as the Toclafane. It's just a made up name, like the Bogeyman," the mother-son duet demanded to know. "I used to ban that word from Lungbarrow grounds."

"_Do you remember all those fairy tales about the Toclafane when we were kids back home, which you heard only when you came to the Academy, and not earlier?_" He paused, switching from the conversational tone to menace. "_Where is it, Doctor? Professor_."

"Gone," they answered.

"_How can Gallifrey be gone?_" he hissed.

"It burnt."

"_And the Time Lords?_"

"Dead, or as good as." The Doctor took dominance. "And the Daleks… more or less. What happened to you?"

"_The Time Lords only resurrected me because they knew I'd be the perfect warrior for a Time War_." At that, the Professor scoffed. He had been shaking in his boots when he was a kid, and it hadn't changed much when he became an adult at 125 when he faced her – unlike him, she wasn't afraid to die, as had been the other Valeyards and renegade Time Lords. "_I was there when the Dalek Emperor took control of the Cruciform. I saw it. I ran_," he admitted, just proving the ancient woman's point. "_I ran so far. Made myself human so they would never find me, because I was so scared_."

"We know."

"All of them? But not you two, which must mean…"

"I was the only one who could end it. And I tried. I did. I tried everything," the Doctor answered. Only being one entity with his mother stopped him from sounding broken, for her fury at the Master was burning in his mind.

"_What did it feel like, though? Two almighty civilisations burning. Oh, tell me, how did that feel?_" the sadist whispered.

"Stop it," they demanded.

"_You must have been like God._"

"That's highly overrated," the Professor cut in.

"_How did __you_ _survive, you old fossil?_" the Master snarled.

"I've not always been The Professor, remember, brat? There are places Time cannot reach," she hissed. "Like the White Space."

"_Another crash-landing? How typical_."

The Doctor shook his head. "You could stop this right now. We could leave this planet. We can fight across the constellations, if that's what you want, but not on Earth."

"_Too late_."

"Why do you say that?" they asked.

"_The drumming._" He started tapping the four-beat-rhythm. "_Can't you hear it? I thought it would stop, but it never does. Never ever stops. Inside my head, the drumming, Doctor. The constant drumming._"

The Doctor shot his mother a look, who nodded reluctantly. "We could help you. Please, let us help."

"_It's everywhere. Listen, listen, listen. Here come the drums._" He increased his hypnotic output, tapping louder."_Here come the drums_." A man leaning against a wall nearby started tapping it as well.

"What have you done?" They walked up to the cab centre in front of them, followed by Martha and Jack. "Tell us how you've done this. What are those creatures? Tell us!"

"_Ooo look. You're on TV._"

"Stop it. Answer!"

"_No, really. You're on telly. You and your little band, which, by the way, is ticking every demographic box. So, congratulations on that. Look, there you are._"

The quartet watched in shock a breaking news report, announcing them all as a group of terrorists. It showed images of them from Lazarus Labs in the Doctor's and Martha's case, Jack's was a copy of his Torchwood service file, and the Professor's was probably a copy from the TARDIS data banks. "…_Known as the Captain, and finally, this woman known as The Professor. They are known to be armed and extremely dangerous,_" the BBC reporter intoned.

"_You're public enemies number one, two, three and four. Oh, and you can tell handsome Jack that I've sent his little __gang_ _off on a wild goose chase to the Himalayas, so he won't be getting any help from them_," the Master snickered. "_Now, go on, off you go. Why not start by turning to the right?_"

Doing as he said, they spotted a CCTV camera. "Camera. He can see us," the Professor realised. She pulled out her infrared sonic screwdriver and fried the camera's circuits.

"_Oh, you public menace. Better start running. Go on, run._"

The Doctor let the phone sink down, and let his mother go. "He's got control of everything."

"What do we do?" Martha asked, a little dazed.

"Without my group, we've got nowhere to go," Jack glowered.

"Doctor, what do we do?"

"_Run, Lungbarrows. Run for your lives!_" the Master yelled into his end of the phone call, just before the Doctor cut the connection.

"We run," the Chronarchs concluded, dashing off through the shopping centre, their human companions beside them.

* * *

Later, at night, they sat around a table in an abandoned (Torchwood, unknown to the Doctor) warehouse as Martha snuck back in, carrying takeaway food. (How they managed to keep her laptop going was anyone's guess.) _How could things go to hell so quickly?_ While it had been only four days on Earth, to the Doctor and her, it had been nearly a _year_. _And I have no idea how long it has been for the Professor_.

The Doctor greeted her with a kiss. "How was it?"

She took a second to take solace in his presence. "I don't think anyone saw me. Anything new?" she asked the three.

Jack held up his wrist strap. "I've got this tuned to government wavelengths so we can follow what Saxon's doing."

"Yeah, I meant about my family," she clarified, turning to the woman at the laptop.

The Professor looked up, accepting the carton of fish and chips. "It still says the Jones family taken in for questioning. Tell you what, though. No mention of Leo."

The other three sat down. "He's not as daft as he looks," Martha smiled, then faltered. "I'm talking about my brother on the run. How did this happen?"

"Koschei happened."

"Nice chips," Jack interrupted.

"I agree," the Doctor smiled, munching his way through the serving.

"So, Doctor, Professor, who is he? How come the ancient society of Time Lords created a psychopath?" Jack demanded.

"And what is he to you? Like a colleague or…"

"He's an insolent brat who doesn't know his place if you ask this old fossil, but that's just me," the Professor grumbled. "Can't believe he's a child of Oakdown House. But it accounts for his careful planning; they're thinkers."

"Well. A friend, at first," the Doctor answered.

Remembering the House name of the mother-son pair, Lungbarrow, Martha bit down the next question, something about brothers (she really had watched too much TV). "What happened?"

"Betrayal. Simple as that. And to _Janayitrita_ – speaking to an elder as an equal and mocking the family bonds," the Time Lord continued.

"_Ouch_," she winced, remembering the woman's borderline obsessiveness concerning family.

"But all the accounts of Gallifrey made it sound so perfect," Jack frowned.

At that, both Chronarchs sighed. "Well, perfect to look at, maybe," the Professor shrugged. "Corruption comes in many forms – in the case of Gallifrey, it was stagnation and arrogance. And our founder was a total and utter loon. But it was still a look to remember."

"It was. It was beautiful. They used to call it the Shining World of the Seven Systems." The look on the Doctor's face turned into that awfully familiar look Martha had come to know over the last months when he spoke of home: guilt, sorrow and longing at war with each other. "And on the Continent of Wild Endeavour, in the Mountains of Solace and Solitude, there stood the Citadel of the Time Lords, one of the oldest and mightiest races in the universe, looking down on the galaxies below. Sworn never to interfere, only to watch. Children of Gallifrey, taken from their families at the age of eight to enter the Academy. And some say that's when it all began. When he was a child. That's when the Master saw eternity. As a novice, he was taken for initiation. He stood in front of the Untempered Schism. It's a gap in the fabric of reality through which could be seen the whole of the vortex. You stand there, eight years old, staring at the raw power of time and space, just a child."

The Professor took over. "There are three possible reactions for an Initiate. In my time, the third reaction didn't occur because the Schism we looked into was natural, maintained together with the Antarians. The Space-Weavers look into Schisms to open their minds to the Planes and Realities. They keep a Mind Saris, a telepathic healer around to protect the young minds. After the dispute, the Council switched to the artificial near the capital, originally mainly used by the Visionaries," she mused. "Looking into the Schism serves three purposes. First, it awakens your time senses – bit like throwing a kid into water so it learns to swim. Just, without the Saris, you can drown. Second, it measures just how sensitive you are to time, and third, your reaction will tell what will become of you in the future."

"How that?"

"Your personality is revealed in that very moment. How you handle things, how you approach a crisis. Those with normal time senses would become inspired, see time in its infinite majesty and be awed. They became the innovators, creators and craftsmen of our people. Those who are highly tuned to time, however, they would feel the weight of responsibility for All of Time and History on their shoulders, and flee in terror. It's really a little much for an eight-year-old, no matter which race," she continued. "It is kind of an irony. Those who run initially become the protectors, healers, fighters… and leaders. Nearly all Lord Presidents of Gallifrey were runners. At least those who were any good." The Professor shook her head. "The Master was neither of these. He was the final category. Some are too small, too weak of hearts and spirit, and will drown in the power and infinity of Time… and go mad, temporarily or completely." She leaned back.

"What about the two of you?"

"I'm a Valeyard, a fricking policewoman, what do you think I did?" the Professor smiled.

"You ran?" Looking from mother to son, Martha understood. "That's what you meant. You're _runners_."

"Took five senior Academy teachers to catch me," the Doctor smiled sheepishly. "And then I fled to my room in school, embarrassed to bits."

"He thought he'd embarrassed the Name, until I told him that nearly all of us ran. Just a matter of changing the direction when you become an adult." She smiled at the memory. She had come home from a rather difficult case and had wanted to pick up Theta for his traditional trip after a successful viewing, only to be confronted by the embarrassed Academy staff stating that her son had done _exactly the same _as herself: locking himself into his room, crying.

Both Jack and Martha could see why the young Doctor had been under that kind of misconception – the (adult) Professor was a standard of her own to live up to. "Old family, huh?" Jack remarked.

"Oldest," the Doctor admitted. "Never really stopped running."

Just then, Jack's bracelet beeped. "Encrypted channel with files attached. Don't recognise it."

"Patch it through to the laptop," the Professor ordered.

_Cat's out of the bag I suppose_, Jack thought. "Since we're telling stories, there's something I haven't told you."

As he connected the Vortex Manipulator with the computer, the characteristic modern logo of Torchwood – the T made of hexagons – popped up on screen. "You work for _Torchwood_." It was more an accusation from the Doctor than anything else.

"I swear to you, it's different. It's changed. There's only half a dozen of us now," Jack defended.

"Everything Torchwood did, and you're part of it?"

The Professor studied him intently. "He's not just a part of it. _You are _Torchwood, aren't you?"

"The old regime was destroyed at Canary Wharf. I rebuilt it, I changed it, and when I did that, I did it for you in your honour, Doctor," Jack finished. "Yes. I am Torchwood. How did you guess?"

"An immortal in charge of an organisation, the corresponding person becomes the whole of the organisation in time. Everyone else is technically manpower. What we say, goes, what we believe in, is," the Valeyard answered. "By the time he," she nodded at her son, "was born? Most people couldn't even really remember what the High Office of the Valeyards worked like without me. So stop it Theta."

Jack nodded. It certainly made sense – in fact, he himself had more than once referred to himself as _being _Torchwood.

She clicked play on the video message. On screen, the reporter Vivien Rook appeared, the face grim. "_If I haven't returned to my desk by twenty two hundred, this file will be emailed to Torchwood. Which means if you're watching this, then I'm… Anyway, the Saxon files are attached. But take a look at the Archangel document. That's when it all started. When Harry Saxon became Minister in charge of launching the Archangel Network._" The message ended, and Vivien was replaced by a diagram of a satellite network.

"What's the Archangel Network?" the Doctor asked.

"I've got Archangel. Everyone's got it," Martha answered, holding up her mobile.

"It's a mobile phone network. Because look, it's gone worldwide. They've got fifteen satellites in orbit. Even the other networks, they're all carried by Archangel," Jack explained. "It's easier than the earth-bound antennae."

The Doctor shot his mother a look and pulled out his sonic, scanning Martha's phone. "It's in the phones! Oh, I said he was a hypnotist. What did you say, _janayi_? A projector?"

"A satellite network serves just as well as an amplifier and projector. All you need is an access node," the Time Lady nodded.

"Wait, wait, wait. Hold on," the Doctor continued. Tapping the phone against the table, it started to beep in that blasted four-beat-pattern. "There it is. That rhythm, it's everywhere, ticking away in the subconscious."

"What is it, mind control?" Martha wondered.

"No, no, no, no, no. It's subtler than that. Any strong-willed person would question it; that reporter did for example, and from the look of it, your father too. But contained in that rhythm, in layers of code, 'Vote Saxon. Believe in me.' Whispering to the world. Oh, yes!" he exclaimed in realisation. "That's how he hid himself from me, because I should have sensed there was another Time Lord on Earth. I should have known way back. The signal cancelled him out."

"Low level autosuggestion, combined with telepathic interference," the Professor concentrated. "But that rhythm… why four-sixteenths? Why do I know it…" She slapped her forehead. "Fossilised, rusty old antiquity. Of course I know that beat. You should know it too, Theta… like your own…"

"Like…" His eyes went wide as a hand went to the upper left of his chest, then the upper right. "Like my own heartbeat; the heartbeat of a Gallifreyan Time Lord. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four."

"But why would he use that?" Jack wondered. "Not exactly a logical choice."

"He always complained about hearing drums in his mind, ever since his initiation," the Doctor remembered. "What if it weren't drums… but his own heartbeat?"

"He always wanted it to stop. But that way, it won't stop until he dies. Permanently," the Professor finished.

Jack looked up. "Any way you can stop it?"

"Not from down here. Not without an access point. But now we know how he's doing it," the Doctor smiled.

"And we can fight back," Martha smiled.

"Hell yes," the Professor smirked. "But before we launch into action mode… I think this is a good time to do some things, Theta."

"Like… oh." The Doctor blushed slightly. "I don't think now is the best time."

_I am not going to take your constant evasion now, Theta Sigma. Besides, hope in the face of an adversary of that level is important. Sometimes, you have to run __towards_ _something_, she hissed into his mind, causing him to wince. The 'tone' she'd used was essentially her Head-of-House mode, which didn't know the meaning of disobedience. (He'd done that _once_, and it hadn't ended well.)

Jack and Martha observed the staring contest with a mix of amusement and interest. _I wonder what this is about_.

"Some things you only get to do once. Those things you want to do right and at the perfect time," he protested nonetheless.

"Your father asked 21 times. And misplaced the first."

"Okay, it just… well, it doesn't feel quite right to ask right now."

"If you hadn't crash-landed in the year 100 trillion, would you have asked her? I think not. You've been sitting on that for a month." She glared. "Why is it always you do things only at gunpoint so to speak? It's always been like this. And that's exactly why it's _right_."

"Well because I don't want to do it at gunpoint," The Doctor admitted. "I want to do it right."

"Just ask her to be allowed to ask. That's all _I_ am asking." She shook her head. "Life's too short, _taruelai_. And afterwards, you need to shut down your mind, like a Valeyard. Koschei will use whatever is in you against you, and it doesn't matter for him if you have asked or not. But it will strengthen _us_ if you ask now."

"I… I know." Only a day ago, his mother had 'uploaded' the mental training regimen of a Valeyard into his mind. The techniques were frightening, the resulting emotional state being a blank slate, mostly running on cold, ruthless logic, but the mind a fortress during lockdown, impenetrable and undetectable to anyone not a Valeyard, and, most frighteningly, still very much capable of _understanding_ emotion. In his case, it would serve to protect anyone he loved – his mother, Jack, and ultimately, Martha. But it only worked fully if you had something to _cling_ to. His mother and most other Valeyards had used their familial bonds, but… "I…" Frustrated and at war with himself, he ran his hands through his hair again, mussing it. Finally, making a decision, he turned to Martha, rummaging through his pockets. "No more running from myself," he whispered.

4

Martha turned away from Jack and frowned as she faced the Doctor. The last time she'd seen him that confused had been after Farringham, when he'd confessed that he was in love with her – and terrified of the fact. "Theta? What is it?"

"Let me see your hand," The doctor said holding out his own, closed around something. When she gave him hers, he placed a small object into it. "Can you hold onto this for me? It's very important, and older than me. Also, there is something I _need _to ask you when this is all over."

The almost-doctor stared down at the thing in utter astonishment. _You've got to be kidding me_. In her open palm laid a platinum ring, holding a clear silverish jewel with an unusual fire, stronger than even that of a diamond, cut as a round brilliant; a blue, tech-grade tritanium necklace was looped through the ring. But no matter how much she blinked, the ring and chain didn't disappear, sparkling in the firelight instead. "I… You…"

Gently, he closed her fingers around it, and kissed her briefly. "This whole mess has horrible timing. I've had plans for this… But I was just making another of my show-offs out of it. So, here I am, promising that I _will_ ask."

"…where did you get it from?"

"It was my mother's. Funny thing. As you just heard, my father put in an outrageous effort in getting my mother to say yes, courting and pursuing her for 100 years. And the day she finally gives in and says yes…" he grinned into her hair, "he misplaces the ring and thinks he's lost it, and buys a new one. Just after giving her this one, he finds the original in his other robes."

"This was your engagement ring?" Martha whispered, turning the head to the Professor.

The Time Lady nodded slowly and held up her hand. "I still have the first."

"That's not a diamond, is it."

"No. It's a Gallifreyan moissanite, Silicon Carbide, set in platinum. On Gallifrey, natural moissanites were more common than on Earth, and preferred by the Oldblood Houses for their superior brilliance," she explained.

"It's beautiful." She took the long chain and put it over her head.

"That it is," The Doctor agreed, holding her close. "Listen, both of you. The Master is a Time Lord, like us, with the same inherent abilities. And as we said, he hates us with all he is. And he will not hesitate to use anything I care about against me. So, if he finds out just how _precious_ you are to me, and yes, you too, Jack…"

"He'll get at us, just to get at you, and get at you to get at the Professor," Jack finished. "You're going into mental lockdown so he can't get in, not showing affection."

He nodded grimly; then, he tried to disentangle himself from his beloved, only to find she wasn't letting go. "Martha. _Lairelai_, please. I cannot… he'll follow the emotions back, and get in, please–"

She silenced him with a kiss. "I love you, Theta," she whispered into his ear before stepping back. "But it wouldn't matter if there was no Earth to come back to, so," she put the chain with the ring under her shirt, "until we've dealt with the Master, I'll keep you hidden, close to my heart." Her expression turned to steel. "Now, let's save the world."

"I said it before, I'll say it again. I _really_ like you, Martha," the Professor smirked, turning off the laptop.

4

Twenty minutes later, the two Time Lords had modified four TARDIS keys and the Professor's Chronos Controller with small pieces from the disassembled laptop and Martha's phone. "Four TARDIS keys. Four pieces of a TARDIS, all with low level perception properties because TARDISes are designed to blend in. Well, sort of," he conceded, thinking about her fried Chameleon Circuit. "But now, the Archangel Network's got a second low level signal. Weld the key to the network and, Martha, look at me. You can see me, yes?"

Martha nodded. "Yep."

He put the string with his key on it around his neck, and immediately, Martha found it difficult to look straight at him. Jack chuckled, knowing the effect all too well from the Hub's 'invisible' lift. "No, I'm here. Look at me," the Doctor waved.

"It's like I know you're there, but I don't want to know," she answered.

The Doctor pulled off the key. "And back again. See? It just shifts your perception a tiny little bit. Doesn't make us invisible, just unnoticed."

"It's like being covered in goo and everyone ignoring you because of that," the Professor explained. "Never doing that again. Had that twice in one week when I was 197." She shuddered.

"What about you?" Jack nodded at the (ex-)Valeyard's wrist device.

"Mine is a little more powerful than that. Observe." Putting it around her right wrist, she touched two of the nodes on the outer ring and twisted it counter-clockwise… and she vanished.

"Where…" Suddenly, something tapped him on the shoulder. "What the hell?"

"And back again," the Professor deactivated the tool. "It's a Perception _Blocker_. It makes it impossible for your brain to register any awareness of me to form. Your eyes see me, your ears hear me, but it never reaches the actual brain, being considered unimportant. The tech is meant to stop even a Time Lord to perceive me. It's dimmable though. What you saw was maximum output, totally erasing me. It doesn't stop people from perceiving what I am doing I'm afraid. If I break a cup, it will be noticed. I'll dim it down a little for moving around. Combined with the Archangel network, I turn into 'I was never here'." She pocketed the key. "That's reserve before you ask. And as long as you wear yours, we're very much visible to each other."

4

Leaving the warehouse, they walked into the night, their keys in hand. "Don't run, don't shout. Just keep your voice down. Draw attention to yourself and the spell is broken. Just keep to the shadows," the Doctor advised, stopping.

"Like ghosts," Jack stated.

"Yeah." They put the keys around their necks, and the Professor activated the modified Blocker.

"That's what we are now. Ghosts," she finished.

* * *

An hour later, they watched the landing of the US President Winters, and his rather glib exchange with the Master (who had big fun making fun of Winters). In a zipper gesture, he finally said, "So America is completely in charge?"

"Since Britain elected an ass, yes. I'll see you onboard the _Valiant_," the American snarled, turning away.

_Now that's what I call character_, the Professor snickered.

_Nail on the head, huh_.

After Winters had driven away, a Police transporter arrived, and out came the Jones Family – Francine, Clive and Tish, who were greeted rather mockingly by the Master, complete with him cocking a snook. "Oh my god," Martha whispered, standing between the two Lungbarrows.

"Don't move, dear," the Professor warned, putting a hand on her arm.

"But…"

"Don't."

"I'm going to kill him," Martha hissed.

"What say I use this perception filter to walk up behind him and break his neck?" Jack wondered darkly.

"Now that sounds like the Torchwood I know," the Doctor glared.

"It _is_ a viable plan," the Professor sighed. "But, he's still a Time Lord criminal off planet, which makes it my job. Again. Killing him would be quick and dirty, but I'm not sure it would stop his plans. Capture is preferable."

"It's still a good plan."

"I'm not here to kill him. I'm here to save him," the Doctor argued. "We have to try at least."

"I am not saying anything against that. But if you fail, I'll let Jack's idea have a shot," she warned. "He's too dangerous to run about."

Meanwhile, Jack was checking his vortex manipulator, accessing the Torchwood database. "Aircraft carrier UNSS _Valiant_. It's a UNIT ship at 58.2 N, 10.02 E."

"How do we get on board?" Martha asked.

"With the Vortex Manipulator, thanks to the revamp," Jack held out his arm. "Coordinates set." All hands on Jack's bracelet, they vanished.

4

They appeared at dawn in one of the _Valiant's _engine rooms, hanging onto various barricades. "Oh, that thing is rough," Martha complained.

"I've had worse nights," Jack grinned, cracking his back. "Owh. Welcome to the _Valiant_."

"It's dawn?" Martha went to one of the portholes. "Hold on, I thought this was a ship. Where's the sea?"

"A ship for the 21st century, protecting the skies of planet Earth," Jack explained. "**U**nited **N**ations **S**ky **S**hip _Valiant_."

"A mobile cloudbase," the Doctor finished, looking out as well. And that's what it was – a flying airport, held high in the skies with a series of massive turbofan jet engines.

The Professor turned away. "The Master is on the top deck of the 'island'. I think it's the bridge," she concentrated, looking up. "And then people wonder why I prefer Sonic the Hedgehog. I feel like playing Super Mario," she muttered. "Only gods and loons love high places."

"We don't have much time. Let's move," Jack shook his head. "And this is a bit more like Metal Gear Solid."

"I prefer Splinter Cell and Tenchu," she answered as they ran.

The Doctor and the Professor stopped suddenly as something scratched at their awareness.

"We've no time for sightseeing," Jack growled.

"No, wait. Shh, shh, shh, shh. Can't you hear it?"

"I'm surprised Jack can't, he's a telepath too. Not trained?" the woman asked.

"Not really. And hear what?"

"Doctor, my family's on board," Martha said, worried.

"Brilliant," the Professor grinned.

"This way!" he called, following the 'sound' through a series of corridors to a storage room on Level 4, the others close on his heels. "Oh, at last!" The Doctor's TARDIS stood amongst a few stacks of boxes against the wall.

"Oh yes!" Martha laughed.

"What's she doing on the _Valiant_?" Jack wondered. But as they entered, their elation was replaced quickly with horror: The normally green and golden lights of the console room were replaced by a sinister red glow, and the ship's Cloister Bell rang continuously. "What the hell's he done?" The console and the Time Rotor were surrounded by a huge cage, and pipes connected the cage to other parts of the ship.

"_Don't touch it!_" both Chronarchs warned.

"I'm not going to."

"What's he done though? Sounds like she's sick," Martha frowned. "And why can't I hear her?"

"It can't be," the Doctor whispered.

His mother stood rooted on her spot, the time-related senses working overtime. Her eyes were wide with horror. "No, no, no, no, no, no, it can't be. He didn't do that to her, did he?"

"What is it?"

"He's cannibalised the TARDIS," the Doctor answered.

Jack, Torchwood Institute Director and ex-Time Agent walked up to his old friend, hoping desperately to be wrong what his training and his senses told him. "Is this what I think it is?" He looked up to the edges of the cage.

"It's a paradox machine," the mother-and-son duet confirmed.

The Professor finally moved closer and tapped a simple gauge at the side of the cage. "As soon as this hits red, it activates. At this speed, it'll trigger at Oh-eight-hundred-and-two."

"First contact is at eight, then two minutes later…" Jack worried.

"What's it for? What does a paradox machine do?"

"Usually holding a paradox in place," the Professor answered.

"More important, can you stop it?" Jack demanded. These were the things the Time Agency originally had lived for, putting out small fires to prevent big ones…

The Doctor shook his head, now squatting down beside his mother. "Not till we know what exactly it's doing. Touch the wrong bit, blow up the solar system."

"More if you really screw up. And we don't have time to listen to the circuitry. It looks like he fried the Avatar module too."

"Then we've got to get to the Master," Martha concluded.

"Yeah. How are we going to stop him?"

"Oh, we've got a way," the Doctor dismissed, looking up. "Sorry, didn't we mention it?"

4

While President Winters held a long-winding speech, the quartet snuck onto the bridge/conference room through a side door. Making their way quietly to the back, Jack whispered, "This plan, you gonna tell us?"

The Doctor held up his TARDIS key. "If I can get this around the Master's neck, cancel out his perception, they'll see him for real. It's just hard to go unnoticed with everyone on red alert. If they stop me, you've got a key."

"Yes, sir," Jack nodded.

"I'll get him," Martha added grimly.

"You try stopping me," the Professor replied, pulling out the backup key.

Just then, Winters was finished with his speech, and four metal spheres the size of a midi-basketball appeared around him, mocking him for not being "The Master". "Where's my Master, pretty please?" the first, a female sphere asked.

"Oh, all right then. It's me. Ta da!" The Master got to his feet, stepping into full view of the cameras. "Sorry, sorry, I have this effect. People just get obsessed. Is it the smile? Is it the aftershave? Is it the capacity to laugh at myself? I don't know. It's crazy."

"Saxon, what are you talking about?" Winters demanded.

Crossing his arms, the psycho turned around to the American. "I'm taking control, Uncle Sam, starting with you." He turned to the first sphere. "Kill him." She didn't hesitate: Extending her weaponry, she fired at him, blasting him to cinders. Chaos ensued, with everyone pushing themselves into the corners, the Master applauding amidst of it, laughing. "Guards!" he called, causing the guards to point their weapons at the civilians around. Lucy Saxon approached her husband from the side slowly while he jumped up the stairs, facing the cameras. "Now then, peoples of the Earth. Please attend carefully."

_Now or never_. The Doctor took off his key and ran forward, only to be stopped a metre before his target by (cliché, anyone?) two men in black. "Stop him!" They had quite some trouble with him, no surprise if you thought about it… But they had him on his knees. Whoooosh. The Professor stormed forward, boots accelerating her already. "And the dust cloud!" He took a gun from one of the guards and pointed at the Doctor. "Forget it, fossil! I don't think you can take the last of your precious bonds snapping!"

A screeching sound, like metal on metal, was the answer as the Valeyard skidded to a halt, glaring as the guards surrounded her. Deactivating the perception blocker, her face was pure murder. "Psycho!" Her sonic boots had left an impressive scratch mark on the floor.

"Thanks, relic."

"Is that really necessary!" the Doctor hissed.

"I am not stupid enough to let the one person capable of reducing five different Lord Presidents to tears with mere glaring and a few choice words run around free." He handed back the gun. "We meet at last, Doctor, Professor. Oh, ho. I love saying that," he laughed.

"Stop it! Stop it now!" the older man yelled.

"A boy with the biggest inferiority complex this side of the Celestial Civil War, how pathetic is that? Can't you see it's all pointless now?!" the Professor thundered, now surrounded by a group of guards.

"The Most Exalted and Most Ancient Great House of Lungbarrow, once boasting the highest number of loomed cousins per generation and the highest overall member number of an astounding 230 people, leading the Prydonian Chapter together with House Scaltata, reduced to a fossilised abomination and a cloudcuckoolander. What of your familial bonds is left?" he mocked. "As if a perception filter is going to work on me. And look, it's the girlie and the freak. Although, I'm not sure which one's which." He looked back at the Doctor. "Though it makes sense. You do love finding lost and pathetic creatures to keep around and make you feel better about yourself, don't you Doctor."

Ticked, Jack ran forward, his key in hand, and was promptly shot by the Master with a beam weapon. He fell onto his back, dead, Martha running over immediately.

"Laser screwdriver. Who'd have sonic and infrared sonic? And the good thing is, he's not dead for long. I get to kill him again!" the maniac grinned.

"Master, just calm down. Just look at what you're doing. Just stop. If you could see yourself," the Doctor pleaded.

"Why can't you just give up?" the Professor asked. Her memory was long – it was true he ticked her off, but she also remembered the hopeful teen who had been put off and saddened by her and her family's hospitality and warmth. "Why can't you let it go?"

The Master sighed, and shot the cameras a look. " Oh, do excuse me. Little bit of personal business. Back in a minute." He turned to the guards. "Let them go."

The guards threw them to the floor. "It's that sound. The sound in your head. What if we could help?" the Doctor stated.

"Oh, how to shut him up? I know. Memory Lane." He sat down in front of them. "Professor Lazarus. Remember him and his genetic manipulation device? What, did you think that little Tish got that job merely by coincidence? I've been laying traps for you all this time. And if I can concentrate all that Lazarus technology into one little screwdriver? But, ooh, if I only had the Doctor's biological code. Oh, wait a minute, I do!" He stood up and opened a big metal briefcase standing on the side-table, revealing Jack's tank with the Doctor's hand. "I've got his hand! And if Lazarus made himself younger, what if I reverse it? Another hundred years?" Before they could react in any form, he aimed the tool/weapon at the Doctor, causing him to scream and convulse in agony as every cell in his body was aged by force; four guards held the Professor on her knees so she wouldn't interfere.

Unnoticed, Jack woke from his death, and quietly removed his vortex manipulator, handing it to Martha. "Teleport."

"I can't."

"We can't stop him, not now. Get out of here. Get out," he hissed.

Just then, the Master stopped, and the Doctor fell to the floor again, right in front of his mother, looking at least 100 years old. "Doctor? I've got you," Martha whispered soothingly.

Horrified, the Professor shot forward, the hands glowing with golden Artron energy. "Theta – Let me go, you punk!" Before she could touch her son to reverse the damage however, the guards had grabbed her again, and the Master locked a metal ring around the Time Lady's neck, causing the glow to vanish. "What in Omega's name did you do to me?"

"Artron Energy Transfer. A lost ability of the Golden Age of Gallifrey, similar to the healing touch of an Antarian. And you, a living relic of that time, who has never needed to regenerate in her nearly 16.000 years of life before, are running over with that energy, and knowledge no normal Time Lord can have these days. _Lady Lungbarrow_," he hissed. "So, I blocked it. It's useless to anyone but yourself now. And don't try to pry that thing off with your screwdriver – you'd lose your head, and that would make even _you_ regenerate."

"You fricking _halfling_ should have never survived your looming. Son of the most vain and lazy _slut _I ever had the misfortune to meet, not even considering bearing you. What must your cousins have thought of you? No, she insisted to use the loom although your father was fertile and a capable geneticist, _halfling_," she spat, causing him to flinch. In retaliation, he slapped her into the face. "You still can't take it, can you. The embarrassment of his House, not being _born_, _Koschei_," she snarled.

"This is hardly the point, _fossil_. Now, to you, Miss Jones." The fury on his face was replaced by the earlier glee. "Ah, she's a would-be doctor. But tonight, Martha Jones, we've flown them in, all the way from prison!" he yelled, waving at the main door.

Martha got up in shock, seeing her family being led in by the guards. "Mum…"

Francine's face was running with tears of regret. "I'm sorry." Martha turned away and took the Doctor's arm again.

Sensing one last chance, the Professor used the interruption to mount the last weapon she still had in her arsenal – her mind – and began a mental assault on the Master, the lethal version of mindbending. "Try this!"

Caught by surprise, the Master staggered back under the force which reminded of the woman's most menacing epitaph: _The Raging Sea_. Some of the attacks contained images which didn't even have names, horrific memories from 15.400 years of Valeyard service, several wars, and knowledge often far beyond anything he knew, a crushing tsunami of pure animosity. "You…" Knowing that he wouldn't survive one-on-one, he aimed his counterattack not at her or the Doctor.

Noticing the change in the duel – he didn't even try to defend himself properly, the shield was paper-thin – the Professor looked at the surroundings in alarm. _He's attacking the Joneses!_ She switched to defence, shielding the minds of the humans around her. But doing so, she spread herself thin, up to the point she couldn't cause damage any longer. "_Bastard_." She ceased the attack, and, to her relief, he stopped his assault on the humans.

"All fair in love and war, Professor. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You nearly had me there. But that's the beauty of it. You're predictable. A Valeyard, a Head of House. You could have utterly destroyed me, forever, even if I regenerated, if only you wouldn't protect all these pesky stupid apes," he snickered. "The strongest psychic to be born in _200.000 years _on all of Gallifrey, an heiress to the powers of the ancient _Pythia_, only matched by her sister, her brother and her sons, and she cannot even defeat a _Newblood halfling_, choosing to defend a bunch of nothings instead."

Breathing heavily, the Doctor shook his head at his mother. "Enough, _Janayitritariene_." He glared at the Master. "The Toclafane. What are they?" The Master knelt down in front of him, feigning having problems to understand him. "Who are they?"

"Doctor, if I told you the truth, your hearts would break," the Oakdown answered, putting his hand to his chest.

Taking the prompt, the Time Lady scanned one of the spheres with telepathy, causing her to flinch. The Master laughed at her reaction. "What did you do to them?! What did you do to them?!" she thundered. "You ruin everything you touch. What did you do to them?!"

"Is it time? Is it ready? – Is the machine singing?" two of the Toclafane spheres demanded.

"Two minutes past." In a theatrical gesture, he looked at his watch, and then, he climbed the stairs to face the camera again. "So, Earthlings. Basically, err, end of the world. Here. Come. The Drums!" In an outrageous demonstration of his usual insipidity, the Master played 'Voodoo Child' over the intercom in the very moment the Paradox machine activated. A red tear split the sky, and myriads – six billion, according to the Master – of the floating metal spheres descended from the sky, down to the great population centres, and, on his orders, they slaughtered 670 million people – one tenth of the total population of Earth.

Unnoticed from the Master, Martha slipped out of view of the cameras, a lone tear running down her face, and, with one last look to her family, Jack and the two Lungbarrows, she activated the Vortex Manipulator, a black fob watch around her neck… and vanished.

The Master didn't really care. Instead, he gestured towards the two other Chronarchs to come up to him, which the Professor did grudgingly, gently carrying her son up to the window. "What is it with you and mass-murder?"

"A speechless Lungbarrow, I like that." Both The Master and Lucy Saxon smirked at the beaten pair. "And so it came to pass that the human race fell, and the Earth was no more. And I looked down upon my new dominion as Master of all, and I thought it," he paused, "good."

4

Martha crash-landed on the hills of Hampstead Heath, watching London ablaze. "I'm coming back," she vowed.

* * *

TBC in Days of Reckoning III


	7. Five: Days of Reckoning III

**AN: Sorry for being a day late. So here it is, the almost-finale of Series 3, Days of Reckoning Part III!  
**

* * *

**Previously, on Doctor Who:**

_Now, the Professor's eyes seemed to flash. "The Master is Prime Minister of the UK!"  
"They're called the Toclafane." – **"What?!" **  
"You going to tell us who he is?" Martha demanded.  
"He's a Time Lord."  
"He's cannibalised the TARDIS. It's a Paradox machine."  
"We meet at last, Doctor, Professor." – "Stop it! Stop it now!"  
"AHH!" The Doctor, aged to a physical age of 135 human years.  
"We can't stop him."  
"Down you go, kids! Remove one tenth of the population!"  
Martha, crash-landing on the hills of Hampstead Heath, watching London ablaze. "I'm coming back!"  
"And the Earth was no more."_

* * *

**Five: Days of Reckoning III**

_Dum anima est, spes est, et tantum mortuos non habent. (Where there's life, there's hope, and only the dead have none.) – Theocritus/Cicero_

July, 2008

Galadriel and her bondmate, Koral, appointed watcher-guardians of Earth (responsible for the classification and historical record of Earth), stood on top of Mount Elbert, Colorado, USA, their blue and black hair shining in the sun, and their eyes looking in sorrow at the reality of Earth. "And so, hell and death fall onto Assiah," the male Ophanim murmured sadly. "Such injustice, and all we can do is watch? Just because of the damn paradox?"

"No. We still have a duty, my love. To warn the Senate, and the Shadow Proclamation. Unless the Doctor wins, we will have a war on our hands," Galadriel shook her moon-blue haired head, pulling out the key chip for the broadcasting array, and activated the machine.

The machine (looking more like a frozen plant, but that was the point) lighted up and hummed, sending a signal in High Antarian halfway across the galaxy, into the dark halls of the Shadow Proclamation. "_Space lane traffic is advised to stay away from Sol III, also known as Earth. Pilots are warned Sol III is now entering terminal extinction. Planet Earth is closed. Planet Earth is closed. Planet Earth is closed_." The signal modulation changed, switching to musical encoding as the array sent the possible threat warning to the Antarian High Council. "_Assiah was conquered. War threat evaluation – 90%. Assiah is closed_."

"And what now? I don't want to leave."

"Let's go to our house. We can shelter at least _some_." Spreading their wings – it would be probably a while until they could do that again – they flew away.

5

May, 2009

_One year has transformed Earth, and not in a good way_, Martha thought glumly as she approached the eastern shore of the UK. Touching the ring and the watch hidden under her clothes, she reminded herself she wasn't alone, and she still had some work to do. _Time for the final act_. The resistance members landed the boat on the beach, where a young man, about 30 or so, awaited them with a xenon lantern. Martha jumped out of the boat, waved the others goodbye and watched for a moment as they vanished into the dark waves of the North Sea; then, she ran up to the man with the lantern. "What's your name then?"

"Tom. Milligan. No need to ask who you are. The famous Martha Jones. How long since you were last in Britain?"

"Three hundred and sixty five days. It's been a long year," she sighed, touching the watch. _How are you doing up there, Professor? _

We'll live. Be safe, dear.

Martha sighed. It had been pretty much the same answer as usual, unless the Doctor contacted her, rare as it was. _Let's get to work instead_.

5

The _Valiant_ hung currently over the Indian Ocean in the sunlight, where the Doctor and the Professor lived their lives in a tarped-off corner of the bridge/conference room (one couldn't believe how much one could get out of the Master in accommodation if you ticked him off every day, just so he could prove the Professor wrong and gloat). It was noon, and she had KP duty today, helping Francine serving lunch. _I bet he wanted to humiliate me. Tough. I've spent too much time on the road cooking for myself for that_. Grumbling, she pulled at her "kitty collar", something Koschei simply hadn't been able to resist, in reference to her often being called the leashed tigress of the council. _That and the Walking Maiden jokes are getting really old_. But since lunch was over, it unfortunately meant that the imbecile would come any minute and…

"_Citizens rejoice. Your lord and master stands on high, playing track **three**_." And, like the proverbial clockwork, the Master slid dancing through the main doors to the sounds of his favourite band, the Scissor Sisters, today with "I can't decide", him singing along as he first danced with Lucy and then forced the Doctor into his wheelchair, taking him for a push around the deck, blowing into the small living area to look with the two out of the window to what remained of Earth. "It's ready to rise, Doctor, Professor. The new Time Lord Empire. It's good, isn't it? Isn't it good? Anything? No? Anything?" They didn't react, save for the Professor meowing in defiance. "Stop that."

"You were the one deciding that I was just as much a big kitty as these Almatian Tigers the Almatian Royal Family decided to give to me as gift, so, my only answer is, _meow_," she answered, and, for good measure, she wiped her temple with the back of her hand like a feline cleaning her face.

"Argh." He turned to the Doctor again, gloating. "Oh, but they broke your hearts, didn't they, those Toclafane, ever since you worked out what they really are, Doctor. They say Martha Jones has come back home. Now why would she do that?"

"Leave her alone," the Doctor rasped. While his mother was perfectly capable of defending herself, pushing the man's buttons so he wouldn't focus on his hatred, that didn't include Martha.

"But you said something to her, didn't you? On the day I took control. What did you tell her?"

"We have one thing to say to you. You know what it is," the Doctor began, only to be cut off.

"Oh no, you don't!" the Master dismissed, pushing away the wheelchair so the Professor had to collect him and redo the tarpaulins. _Valiant now entering Zone One airspace. Citizens rejoice_, it sounded over the PA. The Master hopped up the stairs to the bridge area and clapped. "Come on, people! What are we doing? Launch Day in twenty four hours."

Behind his back, the other two Chronarchs held out three fingers, the Doctor against his thigh while the Professor used the gesture to scratch her cheek. Picking up their water buckets, the Professor left the room, just before Francine, who passed on the signal to Tish, who in turn passed it to her father mopping floors.

5

The Professor approached a rather grubby, tattered Jack in his lair, a boiler room on LD 2, in which he was chained to two pillars by the wrists, forced to stand all the time. _At least he doesn't underestimate him_. "Afternoon, Mega. Ah, smell that country air. Makes me long for a good hot bath. Yeah. What do I get? Ice buckets. Some hotel. Last time I book over the internet," Jack joked.

Making a sour face, the woman held up the two buckets of water. "Do you want a cleanup or feel like shit for another month? I even managed some soap."

"I don't know…"

"It's _warm water_, you collossal flirt. Took some effort to get, Captain."

"Splash away, Milady," he grinned.

As she washed off the worst smudges, she held the three fingers against his neck, causing him to wink.

5

Martha watched as a patrolling Toclafane forced her current compatriot to identify himself, careful not to break the perception filter. After they flew off, Milligan turned around to her, confused. "But they didn't see you."

Grinning, she pulled out the key. "How do you think I travelled the world?" They walked back to his van. "Because the Master set up Archangel, that mobile network, fifteen satellites around the planet, but really it's transmitting this low level psychic field. That's how everyone got hypnotised into thinking he was Harold Saxon."

"Saxon. Feels like years ago," Milligan sighed.

"But the key's tuned in to the same frequency. Makes me sort of not invisible, just unnoticeable."

"Well, I can see you."

"That's because you wanted to. And you know specifically what to look for. Like searching for something really hard." She noticed the odd look he gave her. "Is there a Mrs Milligan?"

Tom looked away, the lines in his older-than-he-is face becoming more pronounced. "Not any longer. It's why _I_ fight. What about you?"

"There is someone. I'm trying to save him, but sometimes, I wonder if I can do it," she breathed, thinking of the Doctor's last few words to her before she started her journey. _Jaze-turre sal, lah lairelai_ – I love you, my everything. She shook her head. "Come on, I've got to find this Docherty woman."

"We'll have to wait until the next work shift. What time is it now?"

"It's nearly three o'clock."

* * *

Plan Three – stealing the Master's laser screwdriver and incapacitate him with it – backfired as the Doctor couldn't get the thing to work. Smirking, the Master bent down and took it from his hands. "Isomorphic controls. I'm not stupid enough for generic controls around _her_." He punched the older man, who fell into his mother. "Which means they only work for me. Like this." Taking aim, he shot just over the Professor's head, and then again at Francine, again missing only by centimetres and burning her leg. "Say sorry!"

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry," Francine gnawed out.

"Mum!" Tish yelled, running over.

"_Fall into the void_," the Professor hissed in New High Gallifreyan, causing the Master to flinch.

"Dare saying that again, and you won't like the consequences, Lungbarrow." He knew exactly what that old phrase meant – in Gallifreyan, the word for "hell" translated into "void" in English. "Didn't you learn anything from the blessed Saint Martha? Siding with the Doctor is a very dangerous thing to do." He nodded at the guards and gestured at the Joneses. "Take them away." Snatching the Doctor from his field bed where the Professor had put him, he dumped him into a swivelling chair and sat down on the conference table. "There you go, Gramps. Oh, do you know, I remember the days when the Doctor, oh, that famous Doctor, was waging a Time War, battling Sea Devils and Axons. He sealed the rift at the Medusa Cascade single-handed, not even an adult, his impossibly proud mother watching. And look at them now." The Professor glared at him, unclipping the chain connecting her collar with the wall and putting on the _kitty bell_ again. "Stealing screwdrivers. How did he ever come to this? Oh yeah, _me_!" he laughed.

"I just need you to listen," the Doctor wheezed.

"No, it's my turn. Revenge! Best served hot. And this time, it's a message for Miss Jones," he hissed, then signalled for an Archangel broadcast to be prepared. A few minutes later, he had it all set up, and pushed the Doctor before the camera. "My people. Salutations on this, the eve of war. Lovely woman. But I know there's all sorts of whispers down there. Stories of a child, walking the Earth, giving you hope. But I ask you, how much hope has this man got?" He turned the camera on the Doctor. "Say hello, Gandalf. Except, he's not that old, but he's an alien with a much greater lifespan than you _stunted little apes_. But what if it showed?" He snapped the screwdriver into Lazarus mode. "What if I suspend your capacity to regenerate? All nine hundred and three years of your life, Doctor. What if we could see them?"

Just in the moment the Master activated the beam, a shrieking "_Mal!_" pierced the air, and The Doctor was pushed back as the Professor threw herself into the way. "Oh ho, you really did it, Professor. Very well. Let's see how it feels to you to heal _903 years_ of aging in just a _minute_. More, and more, and more. Down you go, Professor. Down, down, down the years." Finally, the convulsions and screams ended, and, to everyone's utter bewilderment, the woman hadn't changed one bit, save for the fact that she had collapsed right at the feet of her son, the long hair spilling onto the floor. "Look at that abomination that is his mother. Can't even age – heals faster than aging." He bent down to her. "Aging is cellular damage by three seconds a unit. But you, the only surviving Restoration-using Time Lord, heal at 2.2 seconds a unit, causing you to look forever like 132. But even you can suffer the pains of years, just not like the rest of the universe." He turned back to the camera again. "Received and understood, Miss Jones?" He turned off the broadcast. "Take her to the other abomination until she's recovered. She won't resist."

"Yes, Master."

Before the Doctor could really protest, two guards snatched her and dragged her away.

5

Down on Earth, the whole stunt had the opposite effect on the receiver. Martha smiled. "They're still alive."

5

Deep inside the _Valiant_, the Professor woke at Jack's bare feet. "One word. Ouch."

"I'd say. That was pretty stupid of you, even though I understand why you did it," the immortal Torchwood director smiled.

"Why are you baref– oh no, you didn't…"

"I've given you some of my life force, yeah. Just enough to jumpstart your excess Artron energy to finish the job of getting you back on your feet without emaciating you. No biggy. Just help me put on my boots please, I had to toe them off." Jack grinned down at her.

Sitting up, she shook her head, reaching for the man's boots. "To you, dying is more of a bad habit than flirting, isn't it?"

"Guilty as charged, Milady." He shook his head. "After all the time you took care of all of us, that's the least I can do."

"Thank you."

* * *

Meanwhile, the Joneses sat in their cell, cuffed to their beds. "I'm going to kill him, if I have to wait a hundred years. I'm going to kill the Master," Francine vowed. "One day he'll let his guard down. One day. And I'll be there."

"No, that's my job. I'll swear to you, I'd shoot that man stone dead," Clive interjected. In answer, Francine leant back and kissed him.

"I'll get him. Even if it kills me," Tish gnawed out sotto voce.

"Don't say that," her mother frowned.

"I mean it. That man made us stand on deck and watch the islands of Japan burning. Millions of people. All because he's not what they are and he wanted to get Martha. I swear to you, he's dead," Tish hissed.

At that, Francine closed her eyes, remembering an evening on the bridge, not that long ago.

5

(Flashback)

November 26, 2008

It was night, and the Master had retreated to quarters, leaving Francine free to sneak up to the bridge. _Time to get some answers_. Clive had nagged his ex-wife endlessly for trusting the government more than her own daughter, and, as much as it pained her to say so, she knew he was right; moreover, it was high time (oh the irony of that word) she apologised to Martha's friend, who, by all accounts, had _saved_ them from Lazarus back then. And if she could not talk to him directly – being aged beyond measure must have taken its toll – she could at least talk to the woman claiming to be his mother (which the strange immortal RAF Group Captain had insisted she was). Besides, she was sure they would appreciate eating something better than oatmeal… "Ma'am." She pushed the tarpaulin curtaining their living space aside.

The Professor sat by her son's bedside, not looking up. He had been overly tired today, and she had been forced to suggest sleep to her son, something you didn't do usually to anyone over 120, and her son was _middle age_ already. "Quiet please."

Taking it as a non-rejection, Francine held the plate with sandwiches and the thermos full of tea under her nose. "I thought you could use something better than the grub he allows you."

A mirage of a grin twitched the Time Lady's corner of her mouth, and she took the offered food and drink, finally turning to Francine. "Thanks, although I doubt he would be able to really eat it; still, thank you." Pouring herself a cup, she took a sip and sighed appreciatively. "Not bad at all. But you are not here to just do a misery loves company routine, are you?"

"No." She shook her head. "May I sit?"

"Be my guest," the Professor pointed at her own field bed.

Francine sat down. "I'm sorry. For everything."

"I have heard that before," the Valeyard grumbled into her tea. "But excuse us if we're a little _irritated_ at a blatant display of idiocy and distrust like the one you showed."

"What?"

"You trusted the words of a _complete stranger_ over the words of _your own daughters, your own children_. What mother in all of creation doesn't trust her children when they never did anything wrong?" she hissed.

Francine flinched back at the downright murderous look in the other woman's eyes. The glare she used was nothing she had ever seen in any person, fuelled by fanatic devotion and more _time_ and experience than she could really imagine. She hung her head, unable to meet that ancient gaze. "Obviously me," she whispered. "And judging from your current behaviour, that is unforgivable in your eyes."

"I am 15.637 years old. Of that time, I spent 15.132 years as the Head of my House, and I have _never_ even dared to betray any of my family like that. Not my sons, not the loomed cousins, not _anyone_. I'd rather fall into a black hole!" The Professor downed her tea and forced her to face her. "I have been raised in the belief that family is _always first_, and to love them with all you are. To be the anchor, a beacon of security and love to any of blood and name, that is the born duty of a Head of House, of the parents of a family. And you, Francine Anita Obeng Jones, have done the worst possible job in that. As far as I have heard, the whole peacekeeping in your household was done not by you, not even your husband, but by your younger daughter. And the one time she goes off to do something _she_ wants to do, you betray her."

Francine was pretty sure if the woman's glare got any icier, she'd freeze to stone. "If… if I had been a member of your… well… whatever you call it… what would you have done to me?" she stuttered.

"Unnamed you. Erased you from the family records and forbid anyone of blood or name to ever even speak _of_ you again." The icy rage waned a little as the Professor sighed with regrets. "And a Gallifreyan without a House, without a clan, without a name… is nothing. It's worse than death to us." She let her go and started on one of the sandwiches.

Shaking, the human looked down again. "You really are alien, aren't you. You don't age like we do. Birth Names so important you use a title to hide it. But I am really, really sorry. I… I saw them together that night, and all I could see was my daughter with an older guy, with her pining for him." She gulped. "I never even thanked him." Francine sighed. "There is so much I don't understand. I get that the Master is cuckoo bananas, but I don't get why he hates the two of you so much that he's willing to put off his plans in a moment just to annoy you. I also don't understand the two of you. If I understand Captain Harkness right, him more than you, but still both of you have willingly risked your lives and sanity for our world, repeatedly. A world not your own."

"We like this place, it's home away from home. About the Master…" She shook her head. "Do you really want to know all these things? Time Lords, Houses and all?"

"Where do you think Martha has her curiosity from?" Francine smiled weakly. In a way, this Professor was very similar to herself, just that she wouldn't trust a shady someone over the word of her child, if her gentle care of the incapacitated Doctor was any indicator. _And she's older than writing_.

Nodding slowly, the Professor closed her eyes. "Where do you wish to start?"

"Tell it in an order that makes sense," Martha's mother answered. "I cannot pretend to even know your culture, your ways – just that you wouldn't think to do what I did is proof enough–"

"Do you _really _believe that justified in _any_ culture?" the Time Lady hissed. "Even protecting your children, to go behind their backs… To decide what's best for them! How can you belittle them like that?!"

The glare was back, and Francine wished really she could take back her actions and words. "Don't kick the dog while she's down. It's just, we don't have that kind of family structure any longer or at all. Please… make me _understand_. What is a _House_? Why is it so important in this? And why does he hate you two so much?"

Taking a deep breath, the Professor extinguished her glaring anger, and switched to lecture mode. "Some people say it started when the Master was just eight, at initiation into Academy. I'm not going into details, but going through initiation as a Time Lord or Lady had three possible results: Some will be inspired, some will run away, and some will go mad. What happened to him is a little obvious, isn't it? Got brain-fried. And it didn't help that on his first day, he ran into my eldest who is now the Doctor, over which the student body of the Academy had a rather bipolar view."

"How that?"

"Well, you asked what a Great House of Gallifrey is. By definition, these were family clans who had brought forth at least _one full _Time Lord whose accomplishments in life were outstanding enough to elevate the family: a hero-ancestor so to speak. They were the equivalent of nobility – Time Lords were the oligarch order and class of our world. And our family, our House… was the oldest of all of them. You heard him, on the day your world burnt. The Most Exalted and Most Ancient Great House of Lungbarrow. And the Doctor… was its oldest _born_ child, a son of the main line. _My son_. By the time he became an adult, I had named him my _heir_, rare enough considering a House is usually _matrilineal_, but my daughter wasn't exactly up to standard. We're _Oldblood_, predating the modern Time Lords as a clan of standing, consisting _only_ of Time Lords." She smirked a little. "The Master is an Oakdown. A Newblood House – these were family clans who came into rank _far_ later, and thus did not have the same weight. They also had not as many traditions, or the same strong bonds, and some of their members weren't Time Lords. For them, regeneration was as trivial as changing your style of dress."

"And for you Oldbloods?"

"A regeneration is one of your _lives_. We don't waste them. So, imagine you are the Master, fresh from your initiation, and the first of the older students you run in is no-one less but the »prince« of the oldest and most powerful House of your whole world, and the son of a woman most of your people have a more-or-less severe case of hero worship with. Only, that oddball has horrid grades for the first few years you know him."

"I'd think the guy is crazy."

"That's what Koschei did think. And then, we managed to put his worldview upside down. So, you've met a typical Lungbarrow, a few years your senior, with his family's usual late-blooming tendencies and a thirst for fresh air and running you can't understand because you live in the Citadel, the capitol of your people. Nonetheless, you two become good friends, up to the point said Lungbarrow invites you home for summer… and you are confronted with a totally different attitude. While you are used to rather stuffy behaviour and formality typical for Time Lords, your friend runs up to his _Head of House_ who happens to be his mother too, and calls her _janayi_, that's like saying mummy or mum, and she answers by calling him _taruelai_, beloved child. And you can't help it but be envious of that House full of genuine laughter your friend can return to, when your own mother wouldn't even give birth to you, preferring a machine to _make _you."

Francine winced. "Not good. Why did you need machines anyway?"

"Most Gallifreyans were sterile." The Professor furrowed her brow in thought. "Ages ago, in the Dark Times, a PSI-based plague called Pythia's curse – for it was brought on by the last ruling Pythia as revenge – ravaged our people, leaving most of us infertile. But the founder of the modern Time Lord society, Rassilon aka The Designer, was an inventor, and not easily beaten. He created a machine called the Loom on which to grow new children by weaving DNA. But that practice only sustained us, it wouldn't end the problem, and he knew so. Also, children of a clan loom were more akin to cousins than siblings unless one of the parent DNA was of a fertile. Hence, it was preferable to weave together the DNA of a fertile and an infertile, so the next generation had more fertiles. The mark of a child of a main line of a Great House, especially the _heir_ and the _Head of House _was therefore being _begotten and born_ instead of _loomed_, and it was considered an act of vanity and laziness to loom your children if at least one of you was perfectly capable of naturally producing children. These particular loomlings were called _halflings_ if one wanted to insult them."

"To imply they were less than full Time Lord, right?" Francine shuddered. "Isn't that a little…"

"Racist? I never said it wasn't. But it is something that hits a nerve with him. He can't stand it when people are better than him in some way, and we had that as a _birthright_." She sighed. "The whole thing doesn't apply to pure loomling cousins, and there was a limit how many a House could have per generation of these. My House was, is, and always will be a clan of protectors and fix-it-people. He is the very antithesis to that, always has been. He hypnotised people, my son freed them of it. He tried to conquer some place, one of us stopped him and helped the people. And… finally, there's me."

"So he hates your son for being the other side of the coin. And what about you?" It was a surreal thing to Francine, hearing stories of a society based on families who could trace back their ancestry for over 10 million years, travelled in space _and_ time, and apparently had a somewhat diverse outlook on reproduction, delivered as casually as a university lecture.

"Ever since he's been an adult, he's been trying to become immortal, for he's afraid of death," the Professor answered. "And here I am, never needing regeneration, never aging, stuck on the physical age of 132 because of a genetic quirk and technically immortal. On top of that, I am the Lord High Valeyard. That's a Law Enforcer job – I used to lead an organization which chased Time Lord criminals all over time and space. Reason enough?"

Francine nodded sadly. "Oh boy. An immortal policewoman and a healing man versus a mad conqueror with inferiority complexes."

"Look at his title-name. Psychiatrist's field day."

"The Master." Francine sighed, taking the empty thermos and plate. "So, he would do anything to hurt him, which in turn hurts you."

"Doctor _lah taruelai denya_. The Doctor is my son."

"Can he save us?"

"Can your daughter save us? If there's one thing I believe in, it is that nothing is impossible, just unlikely to prove." The Professor looked up. "You better leave. The Master won't be asleep for longer than four hours, that lazybone."

Francine nodded slowly and stood up. "As I said, I'm sorry. And good night, Professor."

"Good night, Francine Jones."

(End of Flashback)

Francine sighed. "I hope they are alright. The Doctor and the Professor."

5

The Master and Lucy snuck onto the bridge. It was midnight, and as the Oakdown expected, the Professor had taken his absence as invitation for an audacity, sitting in a chair instead of kneeling on the floor. "Good story, isn't it? You and your hearing. What stories of Earth Time must be telling you."

"My grandnephew could write better ones, and he was a nonsense poet," she answered without turning the swivelling chair around. "What do you want, Oakdown?"

"Let's talk, please."

The chair practically _flipped_ around, and the Doctor sat up with a start. "For you to say 'please' this must be either important or a moment of gloating," the Professor lifted both eyebrows. Seeing the mark under Lucy's eye, she narrowed her own slightly. _Since when has he taken to beating her?_

"Both, actually." He sat down on the conference table. "Tomorrow, they launch. We're opening up a rift in the Braccatolian space. They won't see us coming. It's kind of scary."

"Then stop," the Doctor implored.

"Once the Empire is established, and there's a new Gallifrey in the heavens, maybe then, it stops." He stood up and got into their faces, whispering, "The drumming. The never ending drumbeat. Ever since I was a child. I looked into the vortex. That's when it chose me. The drumming, the call to war. Can't you hear it? Listen, it's there now. Right now. Tell me you can hear it, Doctor, Professor. Tell me."

"If you haven't figured out yet what you are hearing, I don't know what to do," she sighed.

"It's only you," the Doctor rasped.

At that, the Master smirked unexpectedly. "Good."

"Do you really think that the Antarians will let you do as it pleases you?" the younger Lungbarrow whispered. "This world is _watched_."

"They didn't lift a finger the last time, why should they do it now?"

"Last time, nobody asked. Have you never ever wondered why the Time War was fought all over history but in such a small amount of _space_? They _confined_ it to that space, pushed back all its horrors from the rest of creation, since the High Council didn't ask for help." The Professor scowled. "But this time, you are attacking what is theirs – the playground of the angels."

Just then, a sphere floated in and sat down on a bird-perch-like pole in the middle of the table. "Tomorrow, the war. Tomorrow we rise, never to fall."

The Master swept his arm at the sphere. "You see? I'm doing it for them. You should be grateful. After all, you love them so very, very much, as do these winged crackpots which are your friends."

"And all you did was destroying the Great Reset by stealing the survivors."

"I took Lucy to Utopia. A Time Lord and his human companion. I took her to see the stars. Isn't that right, sweetheart?" he grinned, sitting down on a chair.

"I am actually surprised you managed to get there at all. You can't even _read_ High Antarian."

"Why reading the bullshit when I can just follow the beacon frequency?"

"Trillions of years into the future, to the end of the universe," Lucy whispered.

"Tell them what you saw," the Master added.

"Dying. Everything dying. The whole of creation was falling apart, and I thought, there's no point. No point to anything. Not ever," she answered in a trance, like always.

"And it's all your fault," he gloated at the Doctor.

Both of them glared so in sync the Master knew he was no longer talking to a pair of individuals but House Lungbarrow, just for a moment. "_This is your doing_."

"Maybe, but who cares? You should have seen it, Lungbarrow. Furnaces burning. The last of humanity screaming at the dark," he mused, trying not to be shaken. "All that human invention that had sustained them across the eons. It all turned inwards. They cannibalised themselves."

"We made ourselves so pretty," the sphere on the table giggled.

"Regressing into children. But it didn't work. The universe was burning out around them. What point to the Great Reset if only the First are back in it?"

"Well, apparently you didn't read the footnotes to that story," the Professor hissed. "You made them like this, stole the survivors of the universe, and brought them here to slaughter their own ancestors. A paradox, for which you tortured his TARDIS."

"Valeyards and TARDISes. I tend to forget that they are your partners. Was it you who installed that annoying avatar module?" The Master laughed. "My masterpiece. A living TARDIS, strong enough to hold the paradox in place, allowing the past and the future to collide in infinite majesty."

"But you're changing history. Not just Earth, the entire universe," the Doctor argued, now leaning against his mother who had sat down at his side.

"I'm a Time Lord. I have that right."

"This statement alone would have been your death sentence."

"They're no longer here. You're the Last. I can do as I want."

"But even then, why come all this way just to destroy?" the Doctor argued.

"We come backwards in time all to build a brand new empire lasting one hundred trillion years," the sphere answered.

"With me as their master. Time Lord and humans combined. Haven't you always dreamt of that, Doctor?" the Master grinned. He got up and stared down at them. "Human race, greatest monsters of them all."

"Says the man even the council considered the most evil and most corrupt creature our race ever produced, and that says something for a society built by a madman," the Professor gloated.

Harrumphing, the Master turned around. "Night then." The three left the room.

Tarping their 'quarters' off again, the Professor grinned sarcastically. "You know what they say about people like him?"

The Doctor smiled sadly. "They miss the obvious details. Let's go to sleep, we have still a part to play."

"That we do," she agreed. Pressing a kiss against her index and middle finger, she touched his forehead. "Good night, _lah taruelai_."

"Good night, _janayi_."

* * *

Sunrise over London, on the _Valiant_. And it was another day for the Master to gloat, this time in grand fashion as he gathered all his prisoners on the bridge: The Joneses, Jack, and of course the permanent occupants of said bridge. "Citizens of Earth, rejoice and observe," he called through the PA. On cue, a pair of guards brought Martha in, past her family, past the Torchwood director, past her beloved and his mother, pushing her in front of the Master. Standing on the stairs to the command part, he held out his hand. "Your teleport device, in case you thought I'd forgotten."

Saying nothing, she threw the Vortex manipulator to him, concentrating on the watch under her jacket instead. _The stage is set, Professor. I'm so glad to see you two_.

_Same here, young one_, the Valeyard sent back discreetly.

"And now, kneel," the Master ordered, not noticing the exchange. "Down below, the fleet is ready to launch. Two hundred thousand ships set to burn across the universe. Are we ready?"

A controller, clearly as insane as the Master, called through PA, "_The fleet awaits your signal. Rejoice!_"

The psycho took another theatrical look at his watch. "Three minutes to align the black hole converters. Counting down!" Just then, a digital timer started clicking down the seconds. "I never could resist a ticking clock. My children, are you ready?"

High in the sky, the spheres had gathered in huge flying ribbons. "_We will fly and blaze and slice. We will fly and blaze and slice!_"

"At zero, to mark this day, the child Martha Jones, will die. My first blood," he announced, grinning, but frowned as she didn't react. "Any last words? No? Such a disappointment, this one. Days of old, Doctor, you had companions who could absorb the time vortex. This one's useless. Bow your head," he ordered, aiming at her with the laser screwdriver. "And so it falls to me, as Master of all, to establish from this day, a new Order of Time Lords. From this day forward–" Martha laughed, stopping his speech. "What. What's so funny?" He lowered the laser.

"A gun?" she raised an eyebrow in a good imitation of the other two Chronarchs.

"What about it?"

"A gun in four parts?"

"Yes, and I destroyed it."

"A gun in four parts scattered across the world? I mean, come on, did you really believe that?"

"_As if we would ask her to kill_," the Doctor and the Professor commented. "I could have done that myself, loon," the ancient Time Lady continued. "But it's not the point."

"Oh well, it doesn't matter. I've got her exactly where I want her," the Master gloated.

"But I knew what Professor Docherty would do. The Resistance knew about her son," Martha smiled. "I told her about the gun, so she'd get me here at the right time."

"Oh, but you're still going to die."

"Don't you want to know what I was doing, travelling the world?"

"Tell me," he mocked.

"I told a story, that's all. No weapons, just words. I did just what the Doctor said. I went across the continents all on my own. And everywhere I went, I found the people, and I told them my story. I told them about the Doctor." She continued to smile, but it was no longer directed at the Master. "And I told them to pass it on, to spread the word so that everyone would know about the Doctor."

"Faith and hope? Is that all?"

"No, because I gave them an instruction, just as the Doctor said," she gave back, remembering. _Use the countdown. Good luck. Jaze-turre sal, lairelai_. She stood up, becoming bolder. "I told them that if everyone thinks of one word, at one specific time–"

"Nothing will happen! Is that your weapon? Prayer?"

Martha continued as if he'd never spoken. "Right across the world, in word, just one thought at one moment… but with fifteen satellites!" To her satisfaction, he grew worried.

"What?"

_Article 9. Always ask the universal question – what?_

_Yep._

"The Archangel Network," Jack realised.

"A telepathic field binding the whole human race together, with all of them, every single person on Earth, thinking the same thing at the same time. And that word… is Doctor."

Just as the timer hit zero, The Doctor was wrapped in an insane amount of white, glowing energy, enough to build a solar system. "Stop it. No, no, no, no, you don't!" the Master protested, realizing what was happening – again. _You are not going to use my own creation against me again!_

Grinning, Jack closed his eyes, calling the name of his friend. "Doctor."

Francine nodded slowly, and both her, Clive and Tish joined the Captain. "_Doctor_."

The screens, even the air, the entire world was chanting the Doctor's name.

The Doctor, now empowered with the psychic energy of the entire human race, first used it to heal himself, regaining his perpetually youthful appearance, then, he vanished the Artron inhibitor collar and the kitty collar around his mother's neck and healed her, who then exploded in a flash of green and golden light as her Restoration realigned itself with her Artron energy. Once the power was back, the Professor took two steps back, a rather nasty smirk twisting the corners of her mouth, the kind on whose receiving end usually only criminals found themselves. The hazel eyes focussed on her son as she whispered in unison with Martha, "Doctor."

"I order you to stop!" the Master yelled.

"We've had a whole year to tune ourselves into the psychic network and integrate with its matrices," the Doctor explained as the last vestiges of old age and a year of mistreatment fell off like they never had been there. "The one thing you can't do…"

"Is stop them thinking," the Professor finished, focussing every ounce of her own mental power on her son, and together with Martha and Jack, she laughed as all their efforts gained fruition.

The Doctor was levitating now. "Tell us the human race is degenerate now, when they can do this." Martha ran over to her family, enveloping them in a group hug.

"NO!" Aiming the laser screwdriver at the Doctor, the Master fired it, but, using the energy, his adversary blocked it with ease.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," the Doctor continued.

"Then I'll kill them!" the Master threatened, aiming at the laser at Martha and the Professor, but a simple gesture wiped the weapon from his hands. _No! No! Not again, no!_ "You can't do this. You can't do it. It's not fair!" he whined.

"Since when do _you_ care about fairness? The focussed psychic energy of five billion human beings. Enough power to make or unmake the world," the Professor smirked. "Turns the focus point into a _god_."

"And you know what happens now," the Doctor shook his head, floating towards the Master.

The younger Time Lord stumbled back. "No! No! No! No!"

"You wouldn't listen…"

"No!"

"Because you know what I'm going to say…"

"_NO!_" Having nowhere to run, the Master curled up in a ball in the corner.

The Doctor landed and, together with his mother, wrapped his arms around him. "We forgive you."

"_Foolish child, it's okay_," the Professor whispered in Gallifreyan, in a tone reserved for petulant children.

"My children," he whispered.

"Protect the paradox. Protect the paradox. Protect the paradox!" the spheres called over PA as they left orbit, racing towards _Valiant_.

The two Lungbarrow let go of the Master and got up, turning to Jack. "Captain, the paradox machine!"

"You men, with me! You stay here." The guards, now free of the Master, gladly followed the orders of Jack, and split in two groups, one of them racing down to Level 4 with him.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor noticed the Master pulling out Jack's vortex manipulator, and dove for it with his mother. "No!"

5

Jack and the guards skidded to a halt in front of the TARDIS, which was guarded by four spheres. "Can't get in. We'd get slaughtered," one of the guards groaned.

"Yeah. Happens to me a lot," Jack shrugged, going in.

5

They reappeared in a quarry over a shipyard. "Now it ends, Doctor. Now it ends!"

"You're the sorest loser I ever met, and given I had to deal with Rassilon, that says something," the Professor scoffed, brushing herself off.

"We've got control of the _Valiant_. You can't launch," the Doctor continued.

"Oh, but I've got this. Black hole converter inside every ship. If I can't have this world, Doctor, then neither can you. We shall stand upon this Earth together, as it burns," he threatened, holding up a remote control.

They approached him from both sides, shaking their heads. The _entity_ was back. "_Weapon after weapon after weapon. All you do is talk and talk and talk. But over all these years and all these disasters, we've always had the greatest secret of them all._" The Master shrank back, staggering under their renewed full psychic presence. "_We know you. Explode those ships, you'll kill yourself. That's the one thing you can never do. Always so afraid of dying, as Death is your master, so that when confronted with those who are not, you lash out._"

Just then, Galadriel appeared in a flash of light behind him, her consort Koral taking the front. "And don't think you can do as you please under my watch, not when you are stupid enough to expose yourself to me." The Antarian Watcher-Guardian snatched the device out of his hands, and nodded at mother and son. Just then, a storm rang throughout time. "Take care," she grinned, snapping her fingers, and the three Chronarchs reappeared on the Valiant_._

5

Before the spheres could reach the _Valiant_, they simply vanished – Jack had done it, destroyed the paradox machine. Papers were thrown about as the mighty ship was shaking all over. "Everyone get down! Time is reversing!" the Doctor yelled, just as Martha was thrown into his arms. Laughing, he kissed her on the lips. _Martha Jones, you're a star!_ "_Jaze-turre sal, lairelai!_"

_You're pretty good too, Thete!_ "_Jaze-turre tir sal, lairelai!_" Repeating his words from a year ago, she smiled at him as they sat on the floor, much to the shock of Francine. Clive simply grinned as the pair used the chaos to snog each other's faces off.

As the storm ceased to be, the Professor jumped into action mode, hopping up the stairs to the controls. "The paradox is broken. We've reverted back, one year and one day. Two minutes past eight in the morning," she announced, activating the com console. "_This is UNIT Central. What's happened up there? We just saw the President assassinated!_" a young man called through the system before the Professor turned it off again. "Just after the President was killed, but just before the spheres arrived. Everything back to normal. Planet Earth restored. None of it happened. The rockets, the terror. It never was."

"What about the spheres?" Tish wondered.

"Back at the end of the universe. And from what I know about watchers like Lady Galadriel, she'll make sure it will be undone too. Humanity will see the next evolution of the universe," the Doctor smiled. "And without the Master to control them, the Antarians won't have to wait any longer for the Great Reset."

"But I can remember it," Francine interjected bitterly.

"We're at the eye of the storm. Temporal Mechanics at their best. The only ones who'll ever know," the Professor sighed, having walked to the other side of the room to block the door. "The _Valiant_, and the watcher-guardians of Earth. A year that never was."

The Master glared at her, knowing she had correctly guessed his intent of making a run for it. "Time-forsaken Valeyard."

"Thanks, loony." Now it was her place to gloat.

Jack entered the room behind her. "Wow, looks like you've got everything under control. So, what do we do with this one?" He pointed at the Master standing in between them.

"We kill him," Clive snarled.

"We execute him," Tish agreed.

"I don't think that's the solution," the Doctor denied, getting to his feet with Martha.

Suddenly, a click resounded in the air, and Francine had one of the guns which had been shaken off the guards in the storm in her hands, cocked and ready. She aimed at the Master. "Oh, I think so. Because all those things, they still happened because of him. I saw them."

"Go on. Do it," the Master urged, already filing the new information away. _That human girl and the Doctor. How cozy_.

"Francine, you're better than him. Don't stoop to the level of a _nothing_ like him," the Professor shook her head, looking the other mother into the eye. "Don't become like him. You are stronger than him."

Francine took a deep shuddering breath, and let the gun drop to the floor again, kicking it away. Clive scrambled down the stairs, hugging her as she sobbed from the strain.

"You still haven't answered the question. What happens to me?" the Master asked.

"I always wondered when I would finally say these words and mean it, but… The scion of Oakdown known as The Master, this is the Lord High Valeyard, the Law of Gallifrey," the Professor smirked. "You are under arrest."

"What are you going to do with him?" Jack frowned. "You can't trust him."

"I'd rather take him to the Shadow Proclamation and cash him in for the bounties on his head, but that's just me," the Professor shrugged. "But I know a few places with padded walls and hypnosis-immune personnel we can dump him on. Maybe they can do something about that drumbeat."

He sagged together. "I was wrong. The monster is you, who still lives, unbroken."

"In High Antarian and Eternal, that's a compliment." She turned away from him, joining the Joneses, who watched as the Doctor and Martha kissed again.

Suddenly, a shot rang through the air, and Martha dropped to the floor, struggling to breathe. "Martha!"

The Master sat with a wicked smile on the floor, the gun from earlier in hands, and welcomed the retaliating shots by Jack and the Professor, knowing he had managed to make the Doctor's victory a Pyrrhic one. "How about this one? I win," he rattled before dying – the shots had been through _both_ hearts.

Francine stood over the Doctor and her daughter, shell-shocked. _No_…

"Hold on, _lairelai_, please, stay with me," the Doctor begged on his knees, holding her close.

"I… am… not that easy… to get rid of, _lairelai_."

The Professor was already two steps further, the mind switching into healer mode. She searched the Master's pockets, and pulled out her Chronos controller and screwdriver in triumph. "She's not dead yet, not if I have something to say about it!" A second later, a miniature storm announced the arrival of the woman's TARDIS. Not waiting, she stormed over, and fastened the small computer around Martha's wrist. "Activating stasis field, step back, Thete." She pried him off her, just in time to see a stasis field wrapping around Martha. The bleeding stopped. "Bullet caught her in the lungs, through and through. She'll drown in her own blood if we don't do something."

"How long until the stasis runs out?" Jack asked, as the Doctor was clearly too shaken.

"10 minutes, it's not recharged. We'll have to get her to the sickbay in my TARDIS," she waved at the silver filing cabinet.

For some reason, that made the Doctor snap out of it, and he gathered Martha's frozen form in his arms, walking gently towards the TARDIS.

"That's just a box!"

"It's just looking like one. It's my spaceship, now, Francine, please." Snapping her fingers, she unlocked the ship, leading them inside. "Arara, please, emergency architectural reconfiguration protocol five."

"_Confirmed_," the Professor's TARDIS' avatar answered, rearranging the rooms so the sickbay was closest. "_First door on the left_."

The Joneses followed Jack through the door, and gasped. "It's…"

"Bigger on the inside," Jack finished. "And it's not 'it' but 'she'. Arara, right?"

"_Correct, my unchanging friend. Second door on the left, observation room_."

5

The Doctor placed Martha on the designated diagnostic table. "What now?" he whispered hoarsely. "I cannot lose her, _janayi_, I just can't."

"Press the big blue button first please, I want my controller back." Seeing the ship-fuelled stasis taking over, she snatched the small tool from Martha's wrist. "And if I have anything to say about it, you won't. However…"

"_What is it?_" Francine demanded over the intercom from the observation room.

"She's lost a lot of blood, and the damage is too extensive for normal healing. On top of that, she is malnourished and generally exhausted," the Professor read off the scanners. "There is a way… but the price is high."

"What… is… it?" Martha rasped, the shock having worn off.

"Don't speak. Hold on, I'll link you with the TARDIS…" Hands dancing over the console. "There."

"_What_… _wow, now this is different. By the way, Arara is awesome and insane_."

"I know, but after all, she's older than me. Listen Martha. I can heal you… but then again I can't."

"Mother?"

"The table she's on, it's a Restoration Table. But it's not meant for humans. Too fragile," she explained. "Its effects are so strong it would kill her, or turn her into a zombie."

"_So I am still going to die?_"

"There is a way out, but… the reason I am hesitating is it would cost you your humanity," she sighed, the hands already pulling up the programs. "This table is adapted from an Antarian surgery table, meant for Gallifreyans, Martha. It's your choice."

"_You mean, either I become a Time Lady, or I die?_" The holographic representation of Martha on the screen shook her head. "_I don't want to die. And besides… remember Kaletiel's prophecy?_"

The Doctor and the Professor froze. "»Assiah's child walks Time's wild.« In High Antarian, the phrase 'Time's wild' is… a temporal paradox," the Doctor realised. "Assiah is Earth, Sol III in High Antarian."

"_You said it yourself, Professor. The next line is describing me. Oh, it's so weird having access to your logs_."

"»Child of Assiah, Child of Assiah no longer, Walking Maiden, Child of Gallifrey, Chosen One.« You really want to do that? There is no turning back."

"_I won't leave him like that. Besides, I promised he could ask me a question, and I can hardly answer when I'm dead_," she answered. "_Do it!_"

"Step back, Theta." She disconnected Martha from the system and put her into a state of awareness – this was better done conscious.

"_Janayitritariene_?"

"_Step. Back_." As he did as ordered, she pulled a lever on the console, and a disturbingly familiar headset descended from the ceiling. "Now, who will be the lucky one… medicine." Rushing to the wall, she touched a panel, causing a few electronic beeps, and then, a shelf extended from the ground, filled to the brim with…

"What the…" The metal racks were filled with Gallifreyan fob watches, most in silver, some coloured like the ones his mother used, and a few even golden.

"Knowledge. Artron energy. The power of Time Lords I couldn't save, but who wanted to help nonetheless. The stored essence facilitates the transformation, and Martha needs all the help she can get," she answered tonelessly. "Ah, there. He'll do nicely." The watch she selected was white, its engravings dark blue.

"You inversed the Chameleon Arch programming to change a younger race into a Time Lord?" he whispered.

She closed the storage. "Hm-hm. It's a reversal. Mind you, before the Time War, that was mostly a thought experiment. Playing around with figures and facts and programs." Pressing the watch into a slot on the console, she went on to place the headset on Martha, connecting it with the table. "What you see is the Evolution Arch, the product of a bored Healer Geneticist's mind playing for 12.000 years. Setting genetic House information, biodata tolerance limits… mind her becoming Scaltata? It suits her best," she rambled, the mind in full throttle mode as the hands danced over the console. "The table will set in the moment the transformation and upload is complete. After that, Zero Room."

The Doctor couldn't help it. He sat down. "Whose watch is that?"

The Professor stopped for a second. "Someone very dear to me, I think you might remember his name. The Surgeon."

"_Uncle?_" the Doctor whispered.

In answer, the Professor hit the biggest button, sending Martha to a world of hurt, and irrevocably into the orbit of Kasterborianii.

* * *

In the observation room, Francine struggled against Jack. "Let me go!"

"You can't go in there, it's too late!" Harkness hissed. "Look Francine, they don't like her suffering either, but changing species that quickly _hurts_. You'll get in the way."

Clive took it with surprising calmness, but then again, he had seen enough of the Doctor's feelings concerning his daughter over the last year, specifically, the way he perked up when he had been sure the Master hadn't been around and news concerning Martha had come in. When the despot had been in, he had been downright catatonic. "Let it be, Francine. You saw them when the Master was beaten. They wouldn't do this if there was a choice."

Tish pressed her hands to her mouth. "Is this going to take long?"

"From what I know, no."

Suddenly, Martha's shaking ebbed away, and, removing the headset, the Doctor carried her out of the room. "Where is he taking her?"

"_Come in_," the Professor called, pressing a button, so the force field holding them back vanished. "Give me a moment to tidy up." She picked up the watch.

5

Deep in the Professor's TARDIS, the customary dodecagonal Zero Room held two occupants, both floating in midair, but only one of them being conscious. Indeed, the Doctor used the room's freedom to »sit« cross-legged at Martha's side, who currently occupied the air in about a metre over the floor. "I'm sorry, _lairelai_," he whispered, not that she heard him – a Zero Room was meant to cut off connection, a place of absolute rest. _I think I need a break too. I am still not quite used to that kind of mental discipline. How does mother cope? Right. Valeyard training usually takes 25 **years**, not 25 seconds._ Cracking his neck, he stretched out at Martha's side, and fell asleep.

5

"You see, this whole process is a lot like a rather violent regeneration – that's how our people normally live for thousands of years, changing bodies when we die excluding certain circumstances," the Professor explained as she locked her brother's knowledge repository watch away, deactivating the equipment. She picked up a small medkit. "Like being shot or stabbed through both hearts or drowning extremely quickly. So, the best place for her to recover completely is the Zero Room. It's cut off from the random electrical and radiological influences of the rest of the universe. Come on, I'll take you to the Zero observatory."

The humans followed her out of the sickbay. "Hold on, we can't go in?" Francine half-protested.

"You're not telepathic or even empathic. Jack could, but he's a universal fact at the same time, making him a tough thing to deal with, especially for a new Time Lady like Martha is now. To us, he feels just _wrong_," she explained, leading them deep into the TARDIS. "Makes us want to run for the hills. I can dismiss it because I deal with facts professionally. A regeneration is done ideally in a low-grade telepathic field, which both the Zero Room and my son will provide. The presence of another Chronarch is recommended to assist with any difficulties, and the newly-regenerated best remains in a state of total tranquillity for a time afterward to allow the mind and body to properly adjust. Also things the Zero Room provides, as it has a calming, restful atmosphere." Opening a door, they ended in a room occupied by a console and a huge viewscreen, currently showing the insides of the darkened Zero Room. A couple of sofas were strewn about. "Have a seat. This will take a while. I'll put the TARDIS into temporal orbit, so, be right back." She rushed out.

Clive turned to Jack. "What's a temporal orbit?"

"Essentially, she makes her TARDIS go back and forth in time at the same pace, causing it to be stuck on the same second," the ex-Time Agent answered after a while. "That way, we could be in here for months, and not a second will have passed for anyone else." He took a good sniff of the air, and grinned. "And here comes some of the best tea in the universe."

"Don't exaggerate, my unchanging friend," the Professor dismissed, carrying a tea tray as she came in. "Tea anyone?"

"Sure. Have another tea quote?" Jack teased.

"»But this will cure all streight, one sip of this will bathe the drooping spirits in delight beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste.« John Milton's words, still true today. And stop teasing, it's an art that takes three millennia to perfect," she lifted an eyebrow as she poured the tea.

"So when can we see her?" Tish demanded.

Setting down her own cup, she checked the console. "Another hour or so. I'll go down then to check on them."

"But…"

"Let them have some rest, please. It's really tough work. The room already makes it easier; outside, it would take up to _eight_ hours for her to recover." The Time Lady sat down amongst them and poured more of the Illawarra. "You seem to have more questions anyway."

Francine shot the screen a look, where it was clearly seen that Doctor and Companion were wrapped around each other in midair. "Apart from the fact that they're floating, how long has _this_ been going on?"

"Depends on _what kind of time_ you're talking," the Professor muttered, causing Jack to snicker.

"I don't think that's funny, Captain," Francine glared.

"Oh, but it is. The Professor's problem is something I had to learn in the Time Agency's Academy, it's a language barrier and a difference in science. In her language, Gallifreyan, there are own tenses for personal relative time, past, present, future," Jack grinned. "What she's asking is if you are speaking of relative chronological or actual absolute time."

"You can speak Gallifreyan?" The Professor was more than just a little surprised, but it gave her a few more suspicions what the Time Agency was (going to be) founded for. And by whom.

"_New High. My accent is horrible though_," he answered in said terrible accent. "I have trouble with the lilting of the vocals, and that despite being a good singer. But it was perfect for writing reports as a Time Agent with that grammar."

"So you have trouble telling us in English," Clive concluded. "Great."

"Actually I don't, it will just take _much longer_. Let's see. By the calendar, a working week has passed since Martha has met my Son, the Doctor – Tuesday to Saturday. But, even to you four, these five days were infinitely longer – 369 days in fact, with one of them being an entire year, passed by in the blink of an eye," she concentrated. "To me, it was 374 days. But for Martha and the Doctor it was in fact 734 days they knew each other. And about 680 days as a pair."

"_Two years_? That's… how…" It was a little much for both of Martha's parents.

"With one of them spent mostly in separation, but yeah."

"That's time travel for you," Jack shook his head. "Time Agents use their vortex manipulator to tell how old they actually are. I remember the 9th version of the Doctor telling me he has some type of counting clock somewhere to keep track of his."

"Standard gift for one's 90th birthday, when you're taken on your second trip by your Head of House. Mine actually needed some revamping, they don't count higher than 13.500 normally," the Professor smiled. "Any other questions?"

Tish seemed to take all that time in stride – she had seen from the beginning how complex and interwoven the lives of Martha and the Doctor were. "Have any good stories of the Doctor as a kid? We have still some _time_ to kill."

At that, the Professor grinned wildly, a grin Jack knew rather well. "Can't promise I'll tell you all, as he is _my son_, but there are some bits I am willing to share."

"First. Why does he love running so much?" the young PR agent wondered. "When we worked to stop Lazarus, we spent a lot of it running like mad."

The grin faded slightly, being replaced by a wistful look, full of memories. "Well, unlike the majority, we lived in the countryside, in the hills of Lung Mountain…"

* * *

The minutes flew by as stories were swapped around. Stories of mountains capped with snow and silver forests and red grassy plains (and a whole world of rather stuffy people living a culture divided) switched with the adventures of a Time Agent (spoiler free) and anecdotes of a pair of Londoners who embarrassed their daughter with childhood stories. Finally, the Professor stood up again. "Well, let's see how she's doing." She took up the medkit and walked out of the room, the humans hot on her trail. Upon entering the white-grey-blue room, it gently lit up, causing the Doctor to wake. "Had a good rest, Theta?"

"Don't mind me, check Martha – hey!" The Professor ignored his protests thoroughly and scanned him with her screwdriver. "I'm fine!"

"Let me be the judge of that. You would state you're fine while running around with severe radiation poisoning," she grumbled. "You are way too much like me after all. But for once, that's not a lie, you are fine now." She went to check on Martha, putting on a stethoscope. "Hearts a little slow, but fine. Temperature… 15.2°C, also fine." Using the IR sonic as a penlight, she checked Martha's eyes gently. "Pupils are fine too… Arara, anything else _you_ can find?"

"_Negative, Professor_," the ancient TARDIS answered. "_She will wake very soon. She'll be fine_."

"Good."

As if on cue, Martha woke, and nearly dropped out of the air, barely catching herself. "Whoo. That's so weird. My head is full of images and…" Concentrating, she managed to lower herself to sitting on the floor, and shook her head, only to groan. "Ow. Not a good idea…" Gladly, she leaned into the Doctor. "Nice Zero Room… how do I know that?"

"Long story. Basically, you now have all the knowledge my younger brother, the Surgeon used to have right in the moment he died from being crushed in his own lab," the Professor smiled, kneeling down at her side. "But until you will have brought all that knowledge forward, it's more like prompts. I'll explain later. How are you doing, Martha?"

"My head feels like Trooping the Colours marching inside, I feel a bit icky having slept in bloody clothes, but aside from that, I don't feel any different from before," the young woman answered.

"Thank god," Francine breathed, sitting down with her other daughter and husband at Martha's other side. "Martha."

"Mum."

"I wouldn't be so sure," the Doctor murmured. "Can you tell how long you've been out of it, in seconds?"

"3752.62 seconds … wait, how do I know that?!" Martha's eyes widened as she realised she could exactly tell how _Time_ was passing by, like something you saw out of the corner of your eye, something you just _knew_. "I… give me that, please." With shaking hands, she took the stethoscope from the ancient woman, and listened to her own heartbeats. "Two. And you… you're warm to me now," she whispered to the Doctor.

"Nearly same temperature. You won't chill or feel overheated easily any longer. Telepathy should come active within the day too…" he whispered as well, putting his chin on her head. "I thought I would lose you for a moment, but you and _janayi_, you keep doing impossible things for me…"

"You promised me to ask something, and I promised I would listen and answer. Can't do that if I'm dead," she gave back. The others had vanished from their world again. "And honestly… I think this is better in a way. You would have struggled otherwise with not keeping me at arm's length, fearing my aging every waking minute. Strange thing, seeing things from your point of view."

"Doesn't it drive you mad? Understanding me?"

"I think it's a fair bargain, mister," she smiled into his shirt; then, Martha untangled herself from the Doctor, pulling out the chain and gave it back. "I believe you have a question."

The Doctor looked up at his mother, who had gotten back to her feet and leant against the walls of the Zero Room, performing a Cheshire Cat routine, together with Jack who stood at her side. _You think this is the time?_

_When better? Show Koschei he hasn't won, taruelai._

_True enough_. Removing the ring from the chain, he exhaled. "Lady Martha Elizabeth Jones. You have dazzled me like no other but my own mother has done in 903 years of life, and set fire to my hearts when I believed that they had long since died. Would you honour me by becoming my bondmate and walk the roads to eternity?" On his flat palm, he held out the deceptively filigree ring, glittering even in the dim lights of the Zero Room.

The hearts hammering up to her throat, Martha nodded slowly, placing said hand on top of the ring. "I would love nothing else, Lord Lungbarrow," she smiled. She took a calming breath as the knowledge lurking below the surface seeped deep into her vocabulary, offering her hand. "They say that there is strength in words, and we have proven this today. One year ago, you promised me a question, and I agreed to listen and to answer. This promise, and all your words and feelings gave me the strength to walk the Earth. I'd love nothing more than being your bondmate, Theta."

The smile that slowly spread on the Doctor's face was so tender and genuine Jack was sure he'd never seen it before, not to anyone. "_Jaze-turre sal, lairelaiue_," the Time Lord declared softly as he put the ring on Martha's finger. "And I will do so long beyond the day the stars go out."

"_Jaze-turre tir sal_. Long beyond the day the stars go out, _lairelaiue_," she confirmed; and, as he bent his head to kiss her, she responded without reservations.

5

Francine stood there, the mouth agape as she watched the engagement. But when everyone else started clapping, _including_ Clive and Tish, she was pretty sure she would have to collect her jaw from the deepest pits of hell. _I… what did I miss?!_

"Way to go, sis," Tish grinned.

"Tish!"

"Oh come on, Mum. You were not half as shocked when Leo said he knocked up his girlfriend. At least she's doing it in the right order," the PR agent teased.

"But he…"

"If you are implying she could do better, I'd like you to try to find someone, Mrs Jones," Jack shook his head, grinning. "You heard the stories yourself. Number One family on Gallifrey. Lord President, _twice_. Saves the Earth on a regular basis."

"I… this is a bit much. Excuse me."

"Mum…" On the floor, Martha and the Doctor had stopped, and the new Time Lady made a half-hearted attempt to get up, only to be stopped by the Doctor himself.

"I go. I have to anyway," he smiled crookedly. "And you still need some rest, your telepathy and your time senses still need aligning." Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he got up and chased after the Jones' Matriarch.

"But…"

The Professor shot Jack a look, who nodded and got closer. Curiously, Martha didn't even flinch. "Well, that proves them right. You can tell the passing of time, but you don't feel timelines yet, otherwise, you'd be crawling for the next wall to get away from me. Take it easy," he advised.

"I…" Suddenly, Martha couldn't help it but feel tired again, and, running on pure instinct, she laid down, put her fingers to her temples and levitated again, falling asleep.

"Let her rest," the Professor sighed, picking up her medical equipment. "We will have to deal with Francine soon anyway."

"God help us, Professor," Clive shuddered as they left the room. "Francine redefines the phrase battle-axe."

"Your ex-wife is a formidable woman, Clive. Any Head of House of Gallifrey would have _killed_ to have someone like her for an heir," the Time Lady smirked, leading them back to the observation room. "Well, excluding me. She's not after my hearts, which is what I value most."

"The Doctor is," Tish observed. "And so is Martha."

5

Francine had, for some reason, ended up in the main library, with its starlit ceiling and books which seemed to go on forever. _What has happened? Okay. I actually remember that year, so, in a way, I know it has been more time to her. But_… She shook her head. "I refuse to accept this!"

"Hasn't my mother told you not to belittle your children, especially behind their backs?" the Doctor stated softly.

Startled, the human woman turned around, and smiled sheepishly. "She did, didn't she. God. It's just… my dutiful younger daughter, always the peacemaker, always studious, and one day, she turns up with _you_, runs off with _you_, and within what is for me days, my world is shaken in its foundations… and now, she isn't even the same woman I once gave birth to any longer."

"She has always been so much more, Mrs Jones. It was just not as obvious before," he countered. "Crisis shows our true face and strength, and Martha has proven herself beyond measure."

"You can't give her a normal life. You are a nomad, living from one crisis to the next," Francine ground out. "You bring them wherever you walk."

"Don't," he warned, knowing what was at the tip of her tongue – Gallifrey.

"My daughter has worked hard to become a doctor. And what now of that?"

"She wouldn't be throwing that away. I would never expect her to. Again. You are projecting your culture on me. Would I be talking to you if I was human? No. I would be asking Clive about this," the Doctor continued. "I am more than aware that associating with me put you all on the Master's radar, and you can blame me for it all you like. But, do not deny Martha what she wants." He stepped in front of her, bowing formally before staring directly into her eyes. "Mistress Francine Anita Obeng Jones. Hereby, I, the heir of the House of Lungbarrow known as The Doctor and scion of Prydon ask for your daughter Miss Martha Elizabeth Jones' hand in marriage. I have, since most that was mine burnt, nothing to offer but myself, my name and all that I am. I cannot guarantee normalcy. But what I can assure you of that your daughter will be loved, and I will do everything in my power to make her happy, for she is _lairelaiue_ to me."

Francine swore the man before her just had looked for a little moment like his own mother – she was speechless again. Finally, she nodded slowly. "You are your mother's son. Now. Hurt her…"

"I am afraid you will have to stand back in line. After my mother and Martha. And Jack," he grinned faintly. "But if there's something left, this old fool will gladly submit to any punishment you see fit." He bowed again. "Thank you."

For the first time ever since they met, Francine smiled at him. "You're welcome."

5

Later, after Martha had woken up, the Professor had taken her TARDIS out of temporal orbit and they left the sentient ship. "Let's find the captain of the _Valiant_ and land this insanity."

"I know where he is," Tish nodded. "Come with me."

"TARDIS," both Martha and the Doctor breathed, sprinting down the corridors, Jack following closely. "She's wailing."

"I can hear her too. She's suffering," Jack grimaced as they reached the blue box. A year around the Professor was a crash course in mental ability. _And she knows it_.

"But she's grateful to you, Jack," Martha smiled, entering. "You freed her."

"You're welcome, old girl," the Captain grinned at the Time Rotor, especially as he sensed the mental caress she sent him, along with an apology for trying to shake him off. "No worries, it's okay. God, what a mess."

"It will take a while to get rid of all the trash. I suppose we can move her off the _Valiant_ first."

* * *

In the death of the night of Saturday to Sunday, three Chronarchs gathered around a pyre in a quarry outside Cardiff, torches in hand. "I still cannot believe you wrapped him in black sheets _and_ black thread, _janayitrita_. And a _quarry_ for the pyre." The normal way was white sheets, thread in the colours of one's House, and being burnt in a field with grass and trees. "He was not…"

"I was willing to let it go. I was as willing as you were to help him with the drumming. But that was before he _shot Martha_. Face it son. He chose to die a _criminal_, and I will burn him like one. Be glad I am not considering collecting his bounty," the Professor glared at her son. "Now, let us begin. – _Lost Child. Lost, foolish child, lost and afraid in the dark_." She put her torch to the pyre, a move copied by the Doctor and Martha. "_May the flames of the pyres be your guide so you may find your way in death_."

The fire – eased by copious amounts of straw in between the logs – quickly consumed the Master's corpse, and they turned away, tossing their torches to the pyre as they left.

* * *

Sunday in Cardiff. It was a little chilly for May, at least, that's what Jack thought. Of course, to his three Gallifreyan friends, that was hardly worth mentioning. They had taken the Professor's TARDIS for a spin, tracking down all the people Martha had met during the Year, the last being Alison Docherty, a professor of the University of Cardiff who had sold her out for information on her son. _It's been a long 'day'_. "By the way, Doctor. Is it really that bad, being around me?"

"It can be nauseating in the beginning and takes some time to get used to, but that I had sufficiently enough of that lately." The Time Lord shrugged and shook his head. "And I admit, I value your friendship more than my creature comforts. So, I'm sorry."

Jack grinned, hugging him briefly. "Thank you. And it's okay."

"Hear, hear," the Professor agreed.

"Thank you, although I am not sure if I deserve this." The Doctor sighed. _First Sarah Jane, and then Jack. Old habits die hard, eh?_

"Even more so then. You need some friends who won't disappear in the blink of an eye." The captain turned to the man's mother. "How come you're not even bothered?"

"I'm a Valeyard. I've come across worse temporal weirdnesses than you in my life. Besides, after fifteen-thousand-something years actively _hunting_ temporal anomalies, the thing which really cause you headaches is unwinding paradoxes," she sighed.

"And I'm not a paradox, just a 'fact'." Jack sighed. "How do you cope? With all these years?"

"I just do. I have to. The opposite choice is to lay down and die," she answered. "And if there's one thing I am bad at, it's giving up for such reasons." She shook her head. "Long life has its downsides, true, but it offers opportunities too. And, if you think about it – all the people you knew and died, they're only as dead as you make them."

The men stared at her, eyes wide. Jack broke the silence first. "Memory? That's your answer?"

"I come from a society which venerates its ancestors, so how else?" She smiled. "I won't deny I miss them all dearly, but as long as I remember them, they're with me." A shrug. "Give it a try."

Shooting the Time Lord a look, Jack exhaled, smiling crookedly, an expression mirrored by the Doctor. "I will. And I never said, thanks for taking care of me in the last year."

"No trouble, son."

The conversation was cut short as Martha came back. "Found her?" the Torchwood director asked.

"Yep. And like everyone else, she had no idea," she smiled crookedly as she took her place at the Doctor's side, leaning against the railing on Roald Dahl Plass. She looked around. "Time was, every single one of these people knew your name. Now they've all forgotten you."

"Good," the Doctor shrugged. "I prefer it that way."

"Time was, everyone knew who _you_ were, Martha. Which reminds me, we still will have to carve your _name_-name into the Pleiades," the Professor mused, standing at the other end of the row, to Jack's right.

"Oh yeah… I will need a title-name, right? Any ideas?" the med student wondered.

"There is one actually that would suit you well."

"You're not… _janayi_. That epitaph…"

Ignoring her heir, she continued. "You see, there used to be a time I was called the Walking Maiden, due to my hidden modus operandi… a rather shady title indeed. I lost it when I became Lord High Valeyard, giving me a reputation as notorious as Theta's, but the Master knew of it, and had a thing of making fun of me with it. But you… Martha Jones, you _walked the Earth_ and saved the world with it. Walking Maiden, Storyteller. Wandering Minstrel, Walker."

"The Walker…" Martha mulled it over, testing the sound. "It fits," she smiled. "But wouldn't I have to do the Viewing first?"

"True enough."

Jack climbed through the railing onto the Plass, back in a fresh coat and clean clothes. "Back to work."

"I really don't mind, though. Come with us," the Doctor stopped him.

"I had plenty of time to think that past year, the Year That Never Was, and I kept thinking about that team of mine," the Torchwood leader smiled, looking at the water tower. "Like you said, Doctor, responsibility."

"Defending the Earth. Can't argue with that." Snatching Jack's wrist, the Doctor exposed the vortex manipulator and started sonicking it.

"Hey, I need that!"

"I can't have you walking around with a time travelling teleport. You could go anywhere, twice. The second time to apologise," he explained as he finished. Much to his dismay, his mother followed in the next moment with her own screwdriver. "What are you doing?"

"I cannot argue with the whole debate about Time Travel, but considering him being first line of defence of Earth…" The IR sonic whirred for a few seconds while the woman entered _another_ code. "There. Teleport. You can't go through time, but it will take you safely wherever you're needed."

"Thanks. And what about me? Can you fix that? Will I ever be able to die?" The expression on Jack's face spoke of his Year, 365 days spent as living target. And living through the _entire_ 20th century.

"Nothing I can do. You're an impossible thing, Jack," the Doctor shook his head.

He chuckled. "Been called that before." He saluted. "Sir. Ma'am. Milady." Walking off, he stopped and turned back to them. "But I keep wondering. What about aging? Because I can't die but I keep getting older. The odd little grey hair, you know? What happens if I live for a million years?"

"I really don't know," the Doctor shook his head.

"If you like, I can fix that," the Professor offered.

"You're kidding."

"Look at me and tell me if I am kidding. I'm nearly 2700 years past average expiry date, Captain, and haven't even managed to regenerate yet," she answered. "Not that difficult."

"Let me think about it. I still have your calling crystal," Jack smiled, then dropped the expression as he noticed her intense staring. "What?"

"There's something else you're not telling. You're 51st century, which means you know who I am and what I'm doing." The Professor raised an eyebrow. "I take it that in your time, there _is_ a Gallifrey… and the Time Lords of your time founded the Time Agency. Probably for manpower. I just wonder _when_ I will have _that_ brilliant idea, since it obviously will go down the drain with corruption."

"Yes, yes, yes, can't answer, can't answer. And yes, I have about the same suspicion as you why I got retconned by them – I found proof of corruption, but before I could get the stuff to the Gallifreyan High Council, they got me," Jack rattled down. "And I can't answer the why because nobody knows."

The Professor sighed, her training already supplying the answer. "Time's wild. Welcome to the wonderful world of predestination paradoxes. Oh well. Something to look forward to around the year 5000 CE."

Jack and the Doctor stared at her in disbelief. "You mean, the Time Agency will be founded by you because you've met Jack?" the Doctor managed.

"The Agency is a part of history, _and who am I to argue with history_?" she snickered, quoting the favourite phrase of every Valeyard ever to serve.

Martha laughed. "She's got you there."

"Well, I've got to run," Jack shrugged. "It's just, with the aging, I really worry about it sometimes. Okay, vanity. Sorry. Yeah, can't help it. Used to be a poster boy when I was a kid living on the Boeshane Peninsula. Tiny little place. I was the first one ever to be signed up for the Time Agency. They were so proud of me. The Face of Boe, they called me. Hmm. I'll see you." In a whoosh worthy of the three Chronarchs, he was gone.

Leaving behind a baffled Doctor and Doctor-in-training. "No."

"It can't be," Martha agreed, thinking of the giant head in the jar in New fifteen times New York.

"No." The Doctor laughed. _It would be just like him though_…

"Nope," the Professor shook her head, one of her fob watches on her ear again. "He isn't the head in the jar."

"What?"

"It's somewhat difficult to _listen_ to him, but I had a year of suffering planet to practice. He's going to take me up on the offer, and… he is going to meet someone very unusual soon," the ancient Time Lady smiled. "But he's _related_ to the head in the jar. Part Boekind if I got his DNA right. He'll tell the other Face of Boe what it needs to know."

"How much Boekind?" the Doctor chuckled as he took the watch to listen for himself.

"33 percent. Accounts for his rather extreme pheromone levels, his persuasiveness and his strong telepathy," she shrugged. "I think you two have a TARDIS to repair."

"What about my family?" Martha wondered as she and her fiancé followed the other woman back to the old TARDIS, currently looking like a morris column with door. "And the wedding…"

"If you want, I can take you all to a nice resort world for a while, and I'm fairly sure UNIT will come knocking at their door," the Professor answered, setting the spatial coordinates for the Joneses' backyard. "About the wedding, that might take a while to get all the needed parts together, given that _home_ is out of reach. Also, I think you would want to finish your studies, don't you?"

The couple shot each other a look. Martha nodded. "True enough. I spent all these years training to be a doctor… I don't want to waste it."

"I can tutor you if you want," the Professor offered, pulling the handbrake to send them off. "In fact, it is actually necessary to trigger all the knowledge you gained from your evolution so it becomes _yours_."

"I know. These prompts drive me mad. I look at or hear something, and I know something about it, but I cannot grasp it at the same time…" Martha smiled a little pained.

"It will come to you, I promise, my dear," she answered, landing the TARDIS.

"Let's go home," the Doctor smiled, wrapping an arm around her as they left.

* * *

**AN: While RTD thought up Jack becoming the Face of Boe encountered the last time in Gridlock, and both DT and JB found it brilliant and hilarious, it was never confirmed, and I find the idea more interesting that Jack will survive even the stars of our evolution burning out, witnessing a new universe to be born. (Also, there's something coming for our favourite immortal later…)**

**Coming up next, Triple Crash! Review please! Rock on.  
**


	8. Six: TRIPLE Crash

**AN: I'm not Nine Days, so I don't own "Absolutely (Story of a girl)", but I think the song fits our favourite way too lonely Time Lord pretty damn well – that is, if you flip the gender into "Absolutely (Story of a guy)". For those who can't imagine what Keith is using to paint, and on which scale, here's an image for the painting gods: www. copic. de/ copic-sketch/ themen-sets-1/ copic-sketch-prasentationskoffer-m-358-markern/ 66 (don't forget to kill the spaces)**

**Brownie Points who gets the reference in the name of the Antarian prophet to School Reunion.**

* * *

**Six: TRIPLE Crash**

_Imago animi vultus est, indices oculi. (The face is the image of the soul, and the eyes mark her intentions.) – Cicero_

Two days of unscrewing, sonic cutting and copious amounts of ripping/weeding wiring out, and the console room actually looked like it used to, golden brown and green, shimmering like an undersea cavern. It had also been the first days of Martha's life as the recipient of the Professor's variant of pop-quizzing, something which apparently was done amongst Antarians to trigger the knowledge of your past reincarnations. The lesson had been TARDIS knowledge, and Gallifreyan language…

"_Professor, can we please take a break? I still don't get Gallifreyan_," she begged, the head buzzing.

"_Then how come you just answered me perfectly in New High?_" the older Time Lady snickered.

"_I just… Oh my god_," Martha gasped, finally switching to English again. "So that's why? All I have to do is become aware of the knowledge?"

"Yep. Got a really long list of annoying questions for you for the next few months," she grinned. "When I'm finished with you, you will be able to perform surgeries on him. Not to mention graduate top of your class."

"Nice."

Suddenly, the Professor's Chronos Controller beeped. "Ah. Looks like Jack decided to call me after all. I think you two can manage to take her for a test drive alone, can't you."

"We'll see you later," the Doctor nodded, waving after her as she left. The door fell closed behind his mother, and he smiled. "Let's take her for a spin. Just a quick trip through the vortex – materialise in the vortex, land someplace in the past, get back."

"Sure."

Just after he pulled the handbrake, the TARDIS spun out of control, throwing both of them into the captain's chair, a klaxon sounding. He struggled back to the controls, turning off the alert and stopping the shaking. "Stop that! Stop it!" he scolded. "What was that all about, eh?" He knocked on the Time Rotor column. "Eh? What's your problem?" _Oh, hadn't having an avatar module been a treat._

Martha finally managed to get back on her feet and got out of the Doctor's way – while it was no problem for her helping him with his TARDIS now, the most knowledge she had on the subject was about Type 35, which had been The Surgeon's vessel of choice, a type known for being rather quiet in workings and personality, nothing like the mad, cloudcuckoolanderish Type 40 or Type 23 AT her fiancé and his mother flew. Also, like the Professor's, it was designed for a single pilot. While the Doctor rushed around the console, she noticed another man working his way in the opposite direction, on direct collision course…

Said man was dressed in a cream white frock coat, an outfit which seemed to be directly from a cricket team locker room and a white panama hat, and looked a little older than the Doctor, physically speaking… "Right, just settle down, now…" he muttered, speaking to the TARDIS as well.

Just then, the two men bumped into each other, and it clicked for Martha. _Oh dear. I am having two Doctors in front of me! Let's see… If I remember it right, it's the Fifth Doctor_. And realizing that, she knew already she couldn't say a thing before the younger regeneration of the Doctor left for his own time. _Yep. Version 5. Wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey. Oh Omega._

"Excuse me…" the Tenth apologised, not quite noticing his younger self yet.

"So sorry," the Fifth gave back as the Tenth got around him…

And then, the Tenth finally saw who he had bumped into. "What?"

"What?" the Fifth was more than just a little shocked to see the strange, thin Time Lord dressed in a blue pinstripe suit in his console room.

"_What_?" They stood nose to nose.

"Who are you two?" the Fifth demanded, noticing Martha leaning against a coral column. _A Scaltata and a Lungbarrow?_

Unfortunately, that triggered only the Tenth's exuberant enthusiasm. "Aw, brilliant! I mean, totally wrong, big emergency, universe goes bang in five minutes, but… brilliant!" he grinned.

"I'm the Doctor, who are you?" the Fifth demanded angrily.

"Yes, you are, you are the Doctor," the current one gushed, still grinning.

"Yes, I am, I'm the Doctor." The younger version was getting exasperated by now.

"Oh, good for you, Doctor. Good for brilliant old you." The Tenth was still very much chuffed.

"Is there something wrong with you?" Fifth frowned.

"Ooo, there it goes, the frowny face! I remember that one!" the Tenth grinned, pointing at the younger Doctor. "Mind you…" he grabbed the Fifth by the face and squished his cheeks, then ruffled his sideburns, "bit saggier than it ought to be, hair's a bit greyer. That's 'cause of me, though. Two of us together has shorted out the time differential, should all snap back in place when we get you home." Stepping back and pressing a few buttons, he grabbed the jacket of his younger self. "Be able to close that coat again. But never mind that, look at you! The hat, the coat, the crickety cricket stuff, the… stick of celery, yeah…"

Martha did a double take at that, and surely enough, the Fifth wore a frickin' stick of celery pinned to his lapel. _Lol. I wish I had some popcorn; he's said he always has trouble when meeting himself. And given my Theta's model, it's gonna be worse!_

"Brave choice, celery, but fair play to you, not a lot of men can carry off a decorative vegetable." The Tenth's grin faded a little – he still couldn't wrap his mind around what had made him pin a stick of _soup ingredients_ to his jacket back then. _Probably encountering the stuff in Castrovalva in post-regenerative trauma ingrained it, ugh._

Obviously hitting a nerve with that, the Fifth gritted his teeth. "Shut. Up!" he hissed, angrily taking off his hat. "There is something very wrong with my TARDIS, and I've got to do something about it very very quickly, and it would help, it really would help, if there wasn't some _skinny idiot_ ranting in my face about every single thing that happens to be in front of him!"

"Oh, okay. Um, sorry. Doctor," 10 answered mutedly, putting his hands into his pockets.

_I wonder really how many people in this world call him and the Professor skinny idiots_, Martha snickered under her breath. It was just too hilarious.

"Thank. You."

But as the Fifth turned around and exposed his back to the Tenth, the latter couldn't help himself again. "Oh, the back of our head!"

"What?!"

"Sorry, sorry, it's not something you see every day, is it, the back of your own head. Mind you, I can see why you wear a hat… I don't want to seem vain," that earned him another snort from Martha (who remembered the Professor's vanity), "but could you keep that on?"

Frowning again – that other Time Lord really grated on his nerves – Version Five turned around again. "What have you done to my TARDIS? You've changed the desktop theme, haven't you? What's this one? Coral?"

"Well…"

"It's worse than the leopard skin."

At that, the Tenth was more than slightly offended – Coral theme after all meant reaching perfect form, and besides, janayi used it too – but no time to dwell again as his younger self put on a pair of half-moon glasses as he turned back. "Oh, and out they come! The brainy specs! You don't even need them! You just think they make you look a bit clever!" He bounced on his feet.

_Brainy Specs. Really. Well, at least on the Tenth, they have another function – they're an 'Action Mode' sign. God, I really, really have trouble keeping it in. I feel like in a comedy revue._

Just then, another klaxon sounded. "That's an alert… Level Five, indicating a temporal collision! It's like… two TARDISes have merged, but there's definitely only one TARDIS present…" Pushing buttons, the Fifth turned off the alert and rushed around the console. Comparatively, the Tenth walked coolly around the other way and leaned on the scanner screen, watching him. "It's like two time zones at war in the heart of the TARDIS… That's a paradox. Could blow a hole in the space-time continuum the size of…" As it was his cue, the older Doctor pushed the scanner into the younger regeneration's way. "Well, actually, the exact size of… Belgium. That's a bit undramatic, isn't it? Belgium?"

Nonchalantly, the Tenth Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and held it into the other Doctor's line of sight. "Need this?"

"No, I'm fine," he declined.

"Oh no, of course," he remembered, performing a rather swishy flipping move with said sonic before pocketing it again. "You mostly went hands free, didn't you, like '_eh, I'm the Doctor, I can save the universe using a kettle and some string. And look at me, I'm wearing a vegetable_'." For emphasis on what he thought of the latter, he pulled a grimace. _The only thing worse I ever did was after that. I must have been colourblind in my 6th incarnation._

Ticked, the Fifth finally abandoned the console and faced the older Time Lord, nose to nose again. "Who are you?"

"Take a look," 10 answered softly.

"Oh. Oh no."

"Oh, yes."

"You're… oh, no…"

"Here it comes… yeah, yeah, I am…" the Tenth grinned.

Shaking his head in disgust, the Fifth finished, "A fan."

"Yeah… What?" The Tenth Doctor squeaked, not quite believing it as he returned to his spot opposite of the jumpseat.

Beep-beep-beep. "Level ten, now. This is bad. Two minutes to Belgium!"

"What do you mean, a fan? I'm not just a fan, I'm you!" he protested.

"Okay, you're my biggest fan," Five conceded, causing Martha to bite her hand so she wouldn't laugh. "Look, it's perfectly understandable, I go zooming around space and time, saving planets, fighting monsters, and being, well, let's be honest, pretty sort of marvellous…" The Tenth nodded in agreement, smiling.

_Oh no. Here he goes, getting a full ego massage. The Professor and I are going to have our work cut out for us with that on our hands._

"So naturally, now and then, people notice me. Start up their little groups. That L.I.N.D.A. lot. Are you one of them?" He stared at the man in pinstripes in pure paranoia. "How did you get in here? Can't have you lot knowing where I live…" he turned down to the console again, much to the annoyance of his older self.

"Listen to me, I'm you. I'm you with a new face," he slapped his cheeks. "Check out this bone structure, Doctor, 'cause one day, you're going to be shaving it," he scolded, sounding eerily like their mother. _I just had to add the remark about shaving, hadn't I?_

Just then, the dark, ominous sound of the Cloister Bell reverberated through the ship. "The Cloister Bell," the Fifth remarked a little redundantly.

"Yeah, right on time. That's my cue," the Tenth replied, springing into action, but far more relaxed than his younger self.

"In less than a minute, we're going to generate a black hole strong enough to swallow the entire universe!" the younger Doctor yelled, a little panicked.

"Yeah… That's my fault, actually," the Tenth admitted. "I was rebuilding the TARDIS, forgot to put the shields back up. Your TARDIS and my TARDIS… well, the same TARDIS at different points in the same time stream, collided and wurp, there you go, end of the universe, butterfingers. But, don't worry, I know exactly how this all works out. Watch." Exploding into activity, he fiddled with the console. "Venting the thermo-buffer… Roaring the helmic regulator… And just to finish off, let's fry those Ziton crystals."

Horrified at the implicated course of action, the Fifth pulled away the Tenth's hands. "You'll blow up the TARDIS!"

"Only way out." Martha was a little worried at that, but, if anything, she trusted both Doctors.

"Who in Rassilon's name told you that?"

"You told me that!" He hit the final button, causing an almighty explosion, and for just a second, the console room was flooded with white light.

"A supernova and a black hole at the exact same instant…" the Fifth Doctor marvelled.

"Explosion cancels out implosion," the Tenth continued.

"Matter remains constant."

"Brilliant."

"Far too brilliant. I've never met anyone else who could fly the TARDIS like that," he frowned.

"Sorry, mate, you still haven't," the current Doctor shook his head, the memory playing out in his mind. _I really suck at recognizing my own regenerations. Let's hope the Valeyard abilities I gained will put a stop to that._

"You didn't have time to work all that out. Even I couldn't do it!" the Fifth protested, following the tall, thin Time Lord around the console to where his hat lay.

"I didn't work it out. I didn't have to," the Tenth explained softly.

Suddenly, all of it made sense to the Fifth. _Ouch. I've been calling myself a skinny idiot._ "You remembered," it dawned on him.

"Because you will remember."

"You remembered being me, watching you doing that… You only knew what to do because I saw you do it."

"Wibbly-wobbley…" the current Doctor began.

"Timey-wimey!" they finished together.

Martha was pretty sure that if she bit any harder into her hand, she would draw blood, especially when the Tenth attempted a high five and not receiving it. Suddenly, the console made another sound, this time however one she recognised. _Time Crash is over._

The Tenth Doctor jumped into action again, fiddling with the controls on the stabilization part. "Right! TARDISes are separating. Sorry Doctor, time's up, back to long ago," he called, stopping to look at his younger self again. "Where are you now? Nyssa and Tegan? Cybermen and Mara and Time Lords in funny hats and the Master? Oh, he just showed up again, same as ever."

_I recognise these names. Old companions_, Martha realised. _And you've got some explaining to do, mister!_

"Oh, no, really? Does he still have that rubbish beard?" the Fifth wondered.

"No, no beard this time. Well, a wife," the Tenth shrugged, causing the younger Doctor to look rather bewildered.

What seemed rather strange to Martha was the fact that the Fifth didn't seem to be unnerved by mentioning his nemesis, well, until she remembered the Doctor telling her about that time – it was the time he had had to deal with the Master the most. _Does it never end_? Just then, the Fifth Doctor started to fade.

"Oh. I seem to be off. What can I say? Thank you. Doctor," his voice echoed, distorted by the differences in time.

"Thank you," the Doctor nodded.

"I'm very welcome," he grinned, disappearing.

Noticing that his previous version had forgotten his hat, the Tenth flipped a switch, causing the Fifth to resolidify. "You know," he picked up the headgear and handed it over. "I loved being you. Back when I first started at the very beginning, I was always trying to be old and grumpy and important, like you do when you're young, especially considering what I was. And then I was you. I was all bashing about and playing cricket and my voice going all squeaky when I shouted, I still do that! The voice thing, I got that from you!"

The Fifth smiled and put his hat on. Looks like I will do alright.

"Oh!" the other Time Lord remembered, putting his foot up the console to show his red Chucks. "And the trainers! And…" He put his foot back on the ground and put on the tortoiseshell glasses. "Snap. 'Cause you know what, Doctor? You were _my Doctor_," he finished, sotto voce.

Still smiling, the Fifth Doctor lifted his hat in farewell. "To days to come." Especially with her.

"All my love to long ago," the 10th replied with a wistful smile.

Martha, having given up the hand-biting, smiled at that, a few tears pricking at her eyes, for she knew in that moment that her Doctor would give nearly everything to be back there… for it meant **home** still being there… _I hope I can give you what you need, Thete_, she thought as the Fifth finally disappeared.

"Hm…" He turned to Martha, taking off his glasses. "Thank you for not saying anything."

"I have the knowledge and instincts of a First Rank Intertemporal Class Time Lord Healer-Surgeon in my head, Theta," she answered, but then, she glared at him as she approached the jump seat. "_And you've got some explaining to do, mister_."

The Doctor sighed and leant against the console. "I think you can figure it out with my uncle's knowledge. Yes, I knew. And for a long time, I had been very curious about the young Scaltata who would travel with my future self."

"You knew me. Just not my name."

"Yes."

"Then why…" She frowned, another prompt making its way to the surface. "Oh Omega, no."

He sighed again. "To my Fifth self, and every other version of me right up to number eight, the idea of travelling with another Time Lady would not have meant much; after all, my 4th version travelled with Romana… remember, I told you about her, last proper Lady President… but…"

"To you, and the you before now, it was some hidden hope in your subconscious that you were not the last," she finished, pulling him into a hug. "You saw yourself with a Time Lady, and you knew that you would one day travel with one… That's why you didn't want to believe the Face of Boe. It must have been crushing."

"More than I wanted to believe. I mean, I finally get to meet you… and there's no recognition, but you kept my secret of my two hearts hidden," he murmured into her hair. "I thought you maybe were chameleon arch hidden, or even just a Gallifreyan, but… when we handled the Judoon, it became pretty clear you were as human as they come. The right mental signature, but belonging to a human. Brilliant, extraordinary, but undeniably _human_." He shuddered. "And I was alone again. Alone in my own head, alone in a universe that left me behind as the coda of a legend."

"And you became angry. Oncoming-Storm-grade angry. It wasn't even about Rose, was it."

"Not really. I was just sick of Time playing with me. Of everything and everyone I love being taken, of every hope and every dream crushed and fucked up beyond all recognition," he admitted. "Add my personal version of survivor's guilt, some PTSD and sprinkle losing Rose, especially like I did, as a topping, and you get…"

"You, in pompous angsty asshole Time Lord emo mode, moping inclusive," Martha finished, snorting. "And then the Professor came, and shook the world."

"She always does. I tend to forget what mothers are good for. The thing with my particular mother is, I am way too similar to her, so trying to outtalk her never works. She just tells me off," he admitted. "Again. I'm sorry for making you feel second best, whatever the reason."

"You might have fancied Rose, but…" Martha looked up at him, a crooked smile on her face. "_You asked me. You told me, showed me that you love me, in every little gesture you do. And would she have done what I did for you? I think not_," she finished in Gallifreyan, placing a kiss on his lips. _I think that's enough to make up for it, lairelai_, she whispered into his mind, not breaking the kiss. _This is the story of a guy, who cried a river and drowned the whole sky, and while he looks so sad in photographs, I absolutely love him… when he smiles._

_Truer words have rarely been thought. And don't forget to remind me every day to show you more, lairelai_, he transferred back, smiling.

Suddenly, the voice of the Fifth Doctor cut into their moment – a delayed echo from earlier. "_Oh, Doctor? Remember to put your shields up_."

The Doctor reached behind himself, pushing a button… but a moment too late. In the very moment he touched the control, the bow of a giant ship crashed through the hull, complete with foghorn sound, throwing both Chronarchs to the floor. "What?! What?!" they yelled simultaneously.

"Are you okay?" Martha coughed slightly, having taken in a whisp of dust from the crash.

"Yeah," he shook himself, crawling over to where a life belt lay on the floor, just in front of his fiancée. Together, they flipped it over. It proudly declared the ship to have one of the most misfortunate names in transportation history: **TITANIC**. "_What_?"

* * *

May 29, 2008 (So, meanwhile, relatively speaking, On Earth)

"Would you like a cup of tea, Professor?"

"I'd rather have an espresso please," the Time Lady answered, having just gotten back from Cardiff tweaking Jack's DNA to contain a basic human version of Restoration, and thus sat in the living room of the Joneses.

"Coming right up," Tish grinned, going to the kitchen.

Clive put down his own cup of tea. "So they're just taking his TARDIS for a test drive, yes?"

"Knowing my House, they'll manage to make even that some semi-catastrophic trip," she answered glumly. "But that's okay. They'll sort it out."

"They always do, don't they," Tish commented, coming back with the espresso. "Well, someone has to, and you are only three people. But I have a question."

"Fire away, and thank you."

"I think it's one you have too, mum, but how does someone marry as a Time Lord?"

Francine's head shot up. "Wait, what? Are you saying they are not going to get married on Earth?"

"Didn't you hear them yesterday Franny?" Clive frowned. "I first thought it unfair too, until I thought of his side of the matter. We still have all these things – home, family – but theirs is beyond their reach. I believe you had some compromise for that, Professor."

"Yes. There's a planet on the Eye of Orion, originally known as a resort, but it was abandoned after the Last Great Time War, and then turned into a memorial for all those races and worlds who've fallen victim," she answered grimly, downing the espresso as an afterthought. "Closest you can get to the actual custom."

"And pray, tell, what _are_ Gallifreyan wedding customs?" Francine glared.

To no effect of course. "Glaring at me is futile, I've stared down every Lord President but Rassilon, and reduced five of them to tears. And Rassilon was the **Founder** of the Time Lords."

Taking a deep breath, the younger woman forced herself calm. "Sorry."

"No problem. Let's see. Ever seen a handfasting?"

"I have, one of my university classmates did that for his wedding. Lovely thing," Tish smiled. "So you do that too?"

"Kind of, just a lot more complicated. It's one of the most common forms to get married in the universe for humanoid species too," the Time Lady answered, reaching to pull up her sleeve, then stopping sadly. "I tend to forget it's no longer there. The mark." She shook her head. "Anyway. A Gallifreyan wedding is actually rather private, done before the closest of sworn friends and immediate family, on the land of the family both sides will belong to, in a surrounding reflecting the taking House best – for Lungbarrow, 'twas either a grassy hill or the high plateau of the mountain. We had both available. Sometimes, some preferred the banks of Cadonflood…" she mused. "And it's really short. Doesn't last longer than 20 minutes. Afterwards, the Head of House welcomes the groom, or, in this case, the bride to her House."

"But what about the rest of the Family?!"

"Do I sense an anxiety to show off being mother of the bride?" the Professor smirked before dropping into a dead serious expression. "The Ceremony of Bonding is so much more than that gesture humans do. You sign a paper and make vows, but in the end, you still can get out. We call that a _union_. A legal marriage without any further strings attached. The Bonding is…" She stopped.

"What?" Francine started.

"Memory Lane. Time Lords are telepaths. The union is just like your weddings, a contract. But a Bonding… is binding the souls telepathically, so close it is impossible to tell where one begins and the other one ends. This is the traditional way to join a main line pair, like Theta and Martha."

"Never alone. 'You never walk alone'," Leo breathed, having kept silent until now. "And you wouldn't allow anyone to deny them such a bond." Suddenly, it came to him why the Professor was so glum. "_You_ are alone though. They're all gone."

"It's fine. I just tend to forget sometimes," she declined.

"No it's not." Clive shook his head. "It never is."

"Please…"

"Let's leave it at that," Francine cut in. "So, you lot prefer private ceremonies… but what of the rest of the family?"

"As far as I can remember, Martha would prefer small anyway for the actual ceremony. But… while the Bonding and the Welcoming slash Adoption is only about 30 minutes, the actual celebration afterwards could last for a week on the average. Depended on which Houses or Clans took part," the Professor grinned. "Record was 11 days, 15 hours and 37 minutes, done by a bonding of a Redloom groom to the Scaltata heiress."

"So, while the Houses don't take part in the ceremony, they put up a party to beat all parties afterwards instead, and the length depends on how many people are in a House, right?" Francine recapitulated. "Sounds a little like two people eloping and then apologizing."

"The last time someone actually elope-unified in my House, I ended up annulling the thing after 253 years," the Professor mumbled into a tea mug Tish had handed her. "Last time my son disobeyed me if it came to family matters."

"I'm sorry?" Francine asked, not having understood a word.

"Never mind. Just the ramblings of a person way past expiry date. And it's not eloping, far from that," she answered. "It's just very different."

Now it was Francine's place to sigh. "I get that. I really do somehow. But I cannot help wishing. Is there really no other form for that?"

"How are we going to accommodate my son's 'family' if we would do it like this? His companions, from all over _time and space_, Francine. How are you going to explain them?" she gave back. "And my answer is no. There is no other way. We have broken already too many traditions. Do not ask of us to break the last."

"But…"

"Franny, Martha isn't exactly the most religious type if you fear that part," Clive interjected. "What about you lot?"

"Religion per se hasn't played a role to Gallifrey for over ten million years, not since the Pythia were overthrown by the Three Founders. We are agnostics. You could say we practice a form of ancestor veneration, following the virtues and beliefs of those who walked time and space before us," the Professor considered. "The Welcoming is thus the ceremony confirming you to those who bore your new name before you. As I said, we can throw a party afterwards." She shrugged. "Look. Martha may still be Martha, but her complete point of view has changed. And her priorities. And it's _not_ like you won't have a chance to show off."

"Can't we do it first your way and then the Earth way?"

"With the life we lead? Putting out fires all over time and space?"

Leo chuckled. It had been somewhat of a wild story with his sister and the Doctor, well, the parts he was able to remember (and from what he understood, he was rather glad he didn't remember). But even from his one encounter with the crazy awesome Time Lord he could tell what kind of life was in store for Martha – and that his mother was in denial about it, despite that both the Doctor and the Professor had never lied about that. "She's got you there mum."

Francine glared at them. "You are so not helping. What about Martha's family?"

"Stupid primate egotist," The Professor hissed angrily. "Your real question is what about me. What about Gallifrey then, hm?" She got up and rushed out into the garden, nearly knocking over her cup.

"Bravo Franny, bravo," Clive sighed. "Have you ever considered you're talking to a widow?"

The accusing glares of the other Joneses sobered the woman up. "I really can't get it right if it comes to them, can I?" The accusing silence hanging in the room said it all.

Finally, the Professor came back, wearing a stony expression. "I had to bury a world. And besides, this is not my idea. It's theirs."

Tish decided to end the ancient woman's misery – honestly, putting two Inquisitor-women into one room was never a good idea. "Look mum, let's just do it as she said. They will have a Gallifreyan Bonding, and then I'll put together a party like you've never seen one before."

Leo laughed, especially seeing his otherwise so demanding mother out-stubborn-ed. _That woman's a fricking mountain_. "So how is that handfasting going to happen?"

"That might be a little tricky, to get Gallifreyan mind-silk for the Handfasting-Question ceremony, and a proper binder…" the Time Lady frowned. "Oh well, that's what Kesh'at is for."

"Anything special that I should consider?"

Gratefully, the Professor smiled. "I'll get the band."

"Alien I take it?"

"Oi! They're among the best the universe has to offer!"

"I really don't know about this," Francine insisted.

"How about this. Given the rough time we've had recently, I'll take you all on a holiday?" the Professor offered.

"_Off the planet_?" Leo and Tish asked together.

"Where else? There are entire worlds out there built as resort. Your deci–" Both younger Joneses raced out.

Shaking her shock off, Francine sighed. "What do I have to pack?"

"Just necessities. We're going to Ira-Illah. Also known as The Resort, in cap letters." The Time Lady smirked in the door of her ship. "You have two hours."

As she was gone, Clive got to his feet. "I don't know about you, Franny, but I will go. Not like we're going to lose any time."

Francine followed him a little slower. "Don't I know it."

* * *

The experience had been harrowing. Not that it was much different from any Christmas in London in the last few years, but seriously. _A spaceship looking like and bearing the same name as the most unfortunate ship in passenger transportation history? Gimme a break_, Martha thought darkly as they had finally landed the TARDIS on 15th century Almatia to finish their test drive. _Only name worse is Intrepid_. Oh well, at least it had been good practice on the matter of her title-name, with everyone calling her Walker instead of Martha Jones. And they had lost people, most prominently, Astrid Perth, who had sacrificed herself to destroy the mad owner of the ship, Max Capricorn, driving a forklift into the cyborg and both of them into the engines. _But it looks like Theta got pardoned by the Queen. About time! Another irate monarch would have just taken the cake_. Shaking her head, she joined her fiancée on the picnic blanket they had laid out on the red-orange grass, and stared up with him at the stars. "What are you thinking about?"

"Do I make people die for me?" he whispered finally.

"Astrid didn't die for you, _lairelai_. If you want a negative reason, a good part of her wanted revenge for being treated expendable, a positive one, she chose to do something that would be meaningful, and if not for that stupid host or the damages on the teleport system, she would still be there," she answered, hugging him close. "And who knows, maybe, she'll be back one day."

"This whole thing just reminded me of how easily I seem to loose people." He put his hand over hers. "It made me realise how often I would end up putting you in danger."

She made a face and pulled out her mobile. "Who do you want me to call, your mother or mine? Stop belittling people's choices, Theta, whether they're Chronarchs, Space-Weavers, or just simple human beings. It's unfair of you, both to them, and to yourself. And I can take care of myself." She turned to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I know where your point of view is stemming from, but as you said, _you'd rather care_. Don't detach yourself now."

He smiled and kissed her softly on the lips. "You are truly one of a kind Martha Jones. My Walking Maiden."

* * *

January 2009

"How many seconds in a month?" the Professor asked Martha out of the blue, amidst a long list of interspecies surgery theory.

"2.678.400," the student answered promptly in the same language, New High Gallifreyan, which was now the usual language between them. It had been a long few months, with her being tutored by the Professor, and the most harrowing time of studying she's ever had in her comparatively short life. Days, weeks, months spent with only three hours of sleep a day (not that they needed more), filled with endless, seemingly random questioning, even longer pop quizzes and a crash course in (very) basic Gallifreyan telepathy. _I know she'd been a recruiter for the High Office, but to have it demonstrated what that means… and I still find it partially disturbing to wake up after only three hours!_ At the same time, it had been very therapeutic, as she had been able to share that year with her and her betrothed. Even if the UNIT debriefing had been a little annoying (they'd ended up registering her as medical advisor).

"How many in a solar standard year?"

"31.557.600, if solar standard year is 365.25 days."

"Main epitaph of House Scaltata. Explain social standing as the second."

"Children of Rassilon, as he was our ancestor. Nonetheless, Lungbarrow stands higher for seniority and descendance of a _ruling _Pythia, and is the House which brought forth The Other and Omega, also known as The Engineer. Second epitaph is Scaltata of the Forest, as the House had its home in a clearing," she rattled down. "Reflecting the relationship between the Three Founders, the House of Scaltata is on the best of terms with the House of Lungbarrow, and leads the Prydonian Chapter together with them. The last Lord Cardinal of the Chapter was Borusa, also Scaltata. Its members were widely known for inspiration and ambition of mind; Borusa was considered the best jurist to have lived for eight millennia."

The Professor smiled. "_Molto bene_. You have successfully recalled the entirety of Gallifreyan politics and history and the division of our culture between the Great Houses and the Citadel-dwellers; your basic Time senses are up to speed, your Time Lord knowledge is active and running, and you know the ins and outs of Gallifreyan anatomy and biology, as well as showing a good sense for genetics. As for surgery, well. Your current teachers at the Royal Hope are blown away already."

"Really? You mean… wait. No, I know that I know. I know I remember it. _Everything_," Martha whispered the last part as she recalled Gallifrey… and, would she have been born or loomed a Scaltata, what her home would have been, that compound amidst an endless silver forest, and she shuddered. "I would have loved to see it myself…"

"Lady Scaltata would have loved to call you _daughter_."

"You think so?"

"You are everything that makes their House members great: Intelligent, smart, witty, utterly charming, brilliant, beautiful, resilient and a horrible loser," she smirked. "Everything _positive_ there was about Rassilon. And believe me, my sister-in-law would have bent backwards to call you _hers_, short on naming you her heir."

"Oh. That reminds me, do I not need that genetic imprint, the Rassilon Imprimatur?"

The over-10k lifted an eyebrow and smirked. "You have it already. The Evolution Arch only creates Time Lords. Only those _elevated_ from plebeian to Time Lord status needed the imprint, and that only sometimes. I don't do things halfway, I'm way too old for that."

Martha nodded numbly. Now that most of her senses corresponding to the 4th dimension were active, she could tell it with certainty: The _absolute age_ of The Professor. And it was more than just humbling to know that the woman wore the markings on her collar – she was wearing her Gallifreyan Valeyard jacket (grey variant) instead of an Earth pantsuit – not for fun. "»The colours, black and white and the golden blossom of the Flower of Remembrance, for they have defied death longer than anyone. See these colours, bend your knees and bow your heads, for your elder is walking alive amongst you.« I remember it usually being a stole though."

"Too impractical for work, I lost it all the time. Now, I believe you have shift in an hour, and you need to get ready."

"Where's Theta?" Martha wondered, putting her papers away.

"Up to his neck in trouble if I know him," the Professor snickered. Not one to stay planet-bound, the Doctor was doing the Professor's work – saving lost Time Lords, working down the list with the help of a command disc. "But it would not be him if he would not end up escalating things."

"True enough," Martha snickered. "He's probably running away from some madman with a world domination scheme as we speak…"

**(And now for something completely different…)**

_Booooooriiiiiiiiiiiing! Booooooriiiiiiiiiiiing!_ the Doctor thought glumly. And, in a way, it was. Sure, his surroundings – Brisbane Botanic Gardens, Brisbane, Australia – were absolutely _gorgeous_, especially since it was summer, but when he had agreed to continue his mother's work, he hadn't counted on all the _waiting_ he would have to do. The pre-programmed dates on the collection dates were approximate, that is, usually at least a day early, leaving him with literally nothing to do, for interfering with the events leading to the 'death'/disappearance of the Chronarch to be rescued could end with said Chronarch surviving… and thus being sucked into the Time Lock. Not that he hadn't been tempted initially, but then, when he waited the first time, even his Time senses told him why he couldn't: The events leading to the Missing-In-Action entry on the list were _fixed_, only the death, never confirmed, was _flux. Only a Valeyard would think of something like that – it's the ultimate type of technicality of temporal mechanics. But why in Rassilon's name am I in **Brisbane**? The entry on the list was weird too, two designator numbers like for a DE biog_…  
Just then, a group of 15 college students led by a fairly young man entered his view, chattering, laughing and joking. From the supplies they carried, he reckoned they were an art or art history class out on a day of practical application _en plein air_: paint, water, brush sets wrapped in etuis, stretched canvas and field easels. Mildly curious, he studied the group and frowned as he watched the group leader, clearly the professor of the affair. There was something vaguely, no, _awfully_ familiar about him… especially his manner of speech, wild and animated, but gentle, steadfast and compassionate all the same.

"Well then, ladies and gentlemen, now that's what I call a rich environment. Brisbane City Botanic Gardens. As I said, today is a practical application of what you have learnt of the impressionists' methods and ideas. Let the world be the guide of your mind," he smiled.

"Professor, sir. Are you going to paint something yourself today?" one of the male students asked, having unfolded his own easel already.

"Only if you drop the palette knife for once, Mr Stiller," he glared, opening a metal briefcase of Copic Sketch markers and setting heavy Tiziano marker paper on a sketch board before placing it on his own easel. Unlike most of the students using lightweight metal easels, their professor preferred an easel made of heavy-duty wood. "Today is about new experiences. To learn how to keep your mind open to the endless possibilities of our wild, wide universe, inside and outside, and that includes using methods and materials you are not or not that familiar with." He shook his dark head. "To me and impressionist methods, that's using Copics and Paper."

"Sir?" One of the girls in the group had her easel still under her arm, clearly intent of going to another part of the park. Judging from her looks, she had to have some aboriginal ancestors.

"Yes, Miss Nodea?" he smiled – the thing being a friendly impression of the Cheshire Cat.

"What was your last bout with something you've never done before as an artist?"

If possible, his grin grew even wider, now reminding the Doctor of his own manic smile. "As you know ladies and gentlemen, I am also a sculptor… but usually, I don't do living sculptures; most things I sculpt require the use of stone/ice saw, mallet and chisels. So, when the Mathematical Department requested a _box bush_ to be 'sculpted', I was confronted with needing a gardening saw, a set of bonsai and rose scissors, various hedge and other gardening scissors and a chainsaw… and I loved every minute of it. That poor bush is now standing tall in front of the department, in the shape of a cylinder topped by a sphere and a tetraeder. Hmm… maybe I should do something like that again…"

Michael Stiller hung his head and put away the palette knife, unrolling his brush etui. "I stand defeated, sir."

"You might be surprised, Michael," the art professor smiled. "You might be surprised. Now, listen everybody. We'll meet here again at half past four, whether you've finished by then or not, so we can talk about your experience. After that, you are free to finish painting. _Itterasshai_!" And they scattered, leaving the teacher alone with his Copics.

_He is awfully familiar. If he wasn't human, I'd swear he could have been Keenon_, the Doctor thought, and got a surprise as the young professor suddenly began to draw at a manic, obsessive pace, definitely faster than anything his students could do… and faster than what most humans could do. _Even that… Keenon worked like that, the eyes never leaving the motive, with hands dancing like a hurricane. But it can't be… can it_? He took his time to study the artist's profile, but to no avail. Tall, downright lanky, he was rather pale compared to his students, with smooth dark hair sticking out under his hat (the straw headgear was about the only piece of clothing that seemed to fit the climate he wore). The face was _young_, younger than what you'd expect of a chair professor, and strongly set. Like Keenon, he was ambidextrous, and had no problem drawing with both hands simultaneously. There was no recognition, but to be fair, it had been well more than a century since he had seen his cousin – the man had left Gallifrey when he (the Doctor) was still in his Fifth regeneration, citing 'personal reasons' and 'needing inspiration' – so it stood to reason the Chaos Painter would have regenerated in between, having been in his first body still. By the time the War started, the youngest male of their generation had all but vanished, not even naming a successor for Crèche Guardian, not that it made sense anyway – war gave little time for new children after all… Suddenly, the manic moves ceased for a second, and the sun glinted off something the artist wore around his neck which the Doctor had first thought to be a medallion… but it was in fact… _I'm thick. Thick, thick as a brick and then another suitcase of thickness! Janayi said it herself! It's a Chameleon Fob Watch!_ He slapped himself. _Focus. For all you know, he's no-one less but the most talented artist Gallifrey has seen for longer than your mother is alive. But how to approach him? I wonder… does he have memory-dreams too? If he really is Keenon, or even one of his students, he's probably painted and sculpted them. But how to get in contact? Direct confrontation is usually about the worst thing you can do_…

"Excuse me?" a voice snapped him out of his reverie. Before him stood the student from earlier with the palette knife issues. Like the entire class, he wore a hat of some form, in his case, a simple gardener's straw hat, but it had done nothing for the boy's complexion – he had a typical Aussie summer tan, probably spending a lot of time on the beach.

"What? What?" The Doctor caught himself before performing another triple. "What is it, young man? Mister Michael Stiller, wasn't it?"

"Err yeah. And I wanted to ask if you wouldn't mind being painted by me… otherwise I must ask you to leave my view, sir," Michael stated, a bright-type paintbrush in hand.

Sensing a chance for information, the Time Lord relaxed into his bench. "I won't mind, if you wouldn't mind chatting with me."

"Okay… hey, how do you know my name?"

"You and the professor do not have an indoor voice exactly… not that I can talk at all of that," he rubbed the back of his neck. _This incarnation of me is so Lungbarrow it hurts. The. Ears._ "He announced your name for the entire class to hear."

"Oh. Yeah. I think it's the whole lecture hall talking mode. There ain't an indoor voice need for us," he answered. "And you are? Since we're at names." Not pausing, Michael pushed the brim of his hat back a little so he could take in the colours, and started choosing from his box.

"I'm John Smith. I'm interested in purchasing some new art for my private collection and I heard your teacher is the best around." He smirked lightly. "Given you're imitating him, I think you know him best out of your class."

Mick hid his blush behind the canvas. "Err… the hat, well… yeah. Well. Professor Jovanka is a great teacher… and the hat is very practical to work en plein air. Which reminds me, it is very unwise to _not_ wear a hat in Australia, Mr Smith. We don't have the luxury of a thick, London ozone layer." His brush hit the canvas, working in the thick acrylic paint.

"_Jovanka_?" The Doctor's eyes went wide. "Did you say 'Jovanka'?"

"Sure, everyone in Brisbane knows the Jovankas. Tegan and Keith Jovanka, née Johnson. Mrs Jovanka owns an art gallery not far from here, it has also the professor's studio, and Mrs Jovanka's office for her activist group." Having gotten rid of his blush, he smirked. "The place is soundproof – otherwise they'd need a new place every few weeks, with him and his sculpting. They say Master Keenon is worse a neighbour than Michelangelo."

_I can't believe Tegan married Keenon_, the Doctor thought, floored. _My old traveling companion married my favourite cousin. And the housekeeper-painter-sculptor crèche guardian at that. When in the Nine Hells did that happen? How did that happen_? Suddenly, an odd image of himself (1st edition), Tegan and Keenon in the Death Zone came to mind – with his cousin solving the chessboard trap in Rassilon's Tomb by splashing a can of quick-dry paint on the thing, burning the paint where it was not safe to walk. After stopping Tegan from stepping on it by pulling her into a hug. _Oh Rassilon. Literally. Wait, what_? "Did you just call him Keenon?"

"It's his artist pseudonym," the student shrugged. "Why?"

"Nothing. Just a coincidence… So, who is he and how long has he been teaching here?"

"The professor holds his chair since 1999. From what I understand, he met his wife when she was still an air hostess, and then, well, apparently, he followed her everywhere, until they ended up here, and got married somewhere along the way," he snickered. "I sometimes wonder if she'd called him a stalker once. Really. A Brit sculptor and an air hostess. The whole thing is considered cliché on campus, partly because she still sometimes bites his head off for trotting behind her _everywhere_," Michael snickered. "She's got him whipped."

I can imagine. _Shy, lullaby-singing Keenon who spent 600 years watching the kids and Tegan? I can imagine who's in charge of that relationship_, the Doctor suppressed his own snicker. Keenon had his own brand of the Lungbarrow courage, if chasing after brave-hearted Tegan, the self-declared mouth-on-legs was any indicator, but as a proper crèche guardian and loomed cousin, he was not one to disobey a woman important to him. "I thought you admired him," he frowned.

"Oh, I do. In fact, I wouldn't mind having a relationship like that," the twen's eyes positively sparkled. "You know artists. We tend to take flights of fancy – but Professor Jovanka? He's always on the ground, and has no trouble with cash. Thanks to her." He checked the proportions, and continued, the brush strokes getting bolder as he sketch-painted the heat-flickering background behind the Time Lord.

A few more minutes passed in silence as the Doctor pondered the situation. _Does janayi know? Silly. Of course she does. But how long was it really? I doubt it was just 20-odd years, given he looks like he's regenerated at least once_. "Do you know how long they have been married?"

"No idea. That's actually something nobody really knows here. Adds to their mystery. I mean, from what I gather, Mrs Jovanka is from Brisbane, but she hasn't lived here for many years. When she finally shows up again, she's married, and before anyone knew, her husband has taken over the asylum so to speak," he shrugged. "Got his chair in one with a painting called _Mount Lung at Dawn_. A really Scifi-ish one, almost like digital fractal art. And most people don't mind, he's way too good and way too cool to bother."

"Lung Mountain," the Doctor spoke slowly, his hearts constricting painfully. "Can you describe that one?" _He painted **home**?_

Michael stopped his work for a moment, recalling the work which hung in Jovanka's office. "It shows a tall mountain, grey in colour on one side, where it cliffs off into an abyss, but everything else dissolves into gentle sloping hills covered in red grass; it's so tall you can't see its peak. The other mountains in the background are black, covered with snow. And the sky over it he made dark orange, as if it was made of gold a little. Hmm… now that I think of it, there is a house or something like that in the image too, on that cliff. It's not very clear – he's really fond of more capturing the spirit than accuracy. And the reason it's so sci-fi is that the painting shows two suns rising. But don't ask him to sell it to you – a lot of people tried that, and they got kicked out faster than you can say brush."

"Are the mountains shining in the suns' light?"

"They are. Do you know his work after all?"

"I once knew someone like that," he evaded. _It's **home**. And I don't know any other artist who would paint Lung Mountain that obsessively. Keenon… what happened, cousin_? Eventually shaking his head, he shelved the speculation for later, and noted that over an hour had passed already; the young man was evidently close to being finished with his 18" by 24" canvas, if his choice of a filbert brush was any indicator – he was now at the 'details'. "How much time do you reckon you'll need?"

"Another ten minutes, sir. And let it be said, your hair is a nightmare to paint; also, I am currently really glad I have no reason to paint your face in detail…" he trailed off, patting a cloud above in place. "It's so fine-boned; a painter can make so many mistakes with it."

Hearing the hidden compliment, the Doctor smiled lightly. "Thank you." He waited a few minutes for the student to finish painting, "You think you could introduce me to your teacher?"

Seeing nothing he could add to the picture, Michael closed his paint tubes and started washing out his brushes. "I don't see why not. He's finished anyway – I don't know any other painter who works that fast and can still get such results. Just give me a moment to wash and pack up."

"Take your time," The Doctor answered. _I'm going to need a moment myself to decide what to say._

Nodding, the art student proceeded to clean his tools with loving care, all the while considering the strange Brit._ I wonder if he's related to the professor. He reacted so weirdly…oh well. Not my problem_. Packing everything away, he plonked down beside the Doctor, holding up the painting for him to see. "What do you think? Too much?"

The Doctor checked the work. Michael Stiller had caught the scene nicely, in a moment he had looked to the side to observe Keith Jovanka again. The trees and plants were moving with the breeze, but… "Nicely done, but I think you need some practice on the light, here, and here. It's too static."

To the Doctor's surprise, Michael didn't flinch, but nodded simply. "I thought so too a little, but the heat makes it difficult to capture – the air is positively vibrating. It's as hard as trying to paint you, Mr. Smith."

"Oi! It's not that difficult."

"I beg to differ, and anyway, it's nearly half past four I believe, so let's go." Folding up the easel, he picked up the stand and his tools, and, shouldering them, he carried the painting horizontally so it would dry faster in the sunlight until he reached the spot where his professor was now going at a third sheet of paper, Copics racing over it. "Sir? Professor Jovanka?"

"One moment," Keith called, not looking up as his Blender softened the edges. Apparently finished, he sprayed a fixator over the picture, put the markers into a heavy metal case at his side, and turned around. "What is it Stiller?"

"This gentleman wants to meet you, professor. Says he's interested in buying a painting, or commissioning one."

"Thank you, but you should see that you get your work somewhere it can dry better for now," he advised. "I'll see you in a few. You can leave your tools here."

"Sir." Doing just that, Michael left the two older men behind, still carrying his painting sunny side up.

"That boy might just cost me my patience," Jovanka sighed. "Talented, but a little too set in his ways, and careless in others. And who do I have the honour with?"

Now that he was face to face with the painter, the Doctor started a little – Keith's slight lilt of the vocals reminded of his own, whenever his Gallifreyan bled through the pronunciation. _What the_…"I'm John Smith. I was hoping to procure some of your works for my private collection," he answered. "Professor Jovanka."

"I see." Rolling up his work in transport tubes, he packed, and fished out a business card. "In that case, meet me in my studio in another hour. I am sure we can find something that catches your eye."

_More than you might think_, the Doctor thought as he took the card and shook the man's hand. "Pleasure to do business with you, sir." The Doctor slowly walked away.

6

Once the Time Lord was sure Keith and his students couldn't see him any more, he ran as fast as he could and burst through the TARDIS door. "Come on old girl, we have a meeting with a very dear friend. I hope." The TARDIS rumbled, conveying her amusement at his impatience, but nonetheless, they ended up where he wanted to be, just outside the Jovankas' workspace and home. Just as he wanted to pull the handbrake to finish landing, he realised he still had no idea on how to get the man to open the watch. _Well, technically, all I have to do is ask about it… just have to make it not too obvious_. Shaking his head, he pulled the brake and shuffled out, entering the gallery. Inside, a signpost – he wasn't sure if it was another sculpture – greeted the visitors, stating that the studio was in the back and the path to it was covered with… yellow tiles, roughly the shape and size of regular bricks. "Someone has a very peculiar sense of humour here… 'Follow the yellow brick road', huh?" Sighing, he did exactly that, and ended in a brightly lit studio, sunlight pouring indirectly into it from multiple angles. Most of the walls were bare and white, except for one – this one was covered with sketches and paintings of all sizes, so much in fact that a row of presentation stands showed another series of images. What most of them had in common however was the colour scheme – red, orange, silver, blue and white. _That's_…

"I see that you found my dirty little secret. _The Gallery of Impossible Dreams_," Keith stated behind him. "_Lung Mountain and Hills_ is the only one of them I ever revealed to exist so far. I hope you won't mind me asking of you to not speak of these?"

"Don't worry, I know how important some secrets are."

"It's not a secret per se, I just find it somewhat embarrassing, these things… sometimes, I wake in the middle of the night, and I can't get rid of the dream, so I paint it," Keith explained. "It's always been like that, but it's become worse since I've come to Australia. And lately, they all show that, that… world, of red and orange and gold and silver…"

"And sometimes you don't even know who you are, do you?" the Doctor finished softly.

"You know about that?"

"I had a similar experience recently. Was hit over the head so to speak." _Kind of._ "Does your wife know about these, if you don't mind me asking?"

Keith stepped beside him, a smirk twitching the corner of his mouth. "Tegan? The ones on the easels over there, they're hers." He shook his head. "You had something similar happening to you?"

"I kept a journal in that time." Scanning the paintings Keith had designated to be Tegan's, he saw something astonishing – one of them seemed to be the other half of one of Keith's… and together, they showed a Gallifreyan Bonding Ceremony, as the hands of both parties were on the respective one… and they showed the Keenon and Tegan he had known, safe for Tegan wearing long hair. The style was one Keenon only employed for portraits – photorealistic – and done with a painstaking obsession evident in every _loving_ stroke he'd placed on Tegan's portrait. He also recognised the Binder: It was Keenon's twin sister (they had been loomed together), Alion, in her second body. "A journal of impossible things," he finished, suppressing his surprise, and frowned at another one of them. This one was an art print, and definitely fractal in nature, showing clockworks… and Gallifreyan text, meant for the eyes of a passing Time Lord. '_I am The Chaos Painter, child of the House of Lungbarrow of the Hills. Free me, I implore you_.' _Well, it cannot be more obvious_, the Doctor thought, staring at the centrepiece of the fractal art piece – a Gallifreyan fob watch in all its glory.

"Interesting. I would like to compare if you don't mind… or do you not have it any longer?" Seeing the Doctor shake his head, he sighed, and smiled ruefully. "Sorry. I sometimes cannot help myself with the enthusiasm. I'm always late too when that happens…" He took off the watch from around his neck. "And that thing never works. Tegan always gives me an earful because of that."

"But you just can't seem to bring yourself to get rid of it, right?"

"No, not ever. It's the only thing that I still have from my old house… burnt down, you know," he sighed. "That, and my art tools – brushes, easel, chisels and mallets. I was lucky – I was out when that happened."

"Are you sure it doesn't work?" 'House' burnt down. _Oh, clever, clever cousin. You did only a basic stripping, replacing memories with things that would make sense in your current identity. Not even a personality change_.

"I…" Keith shook his head as it ached suddenly. "I don't know. I never opened it actually…"

"Well…why not?"

"I…" A voice, so much like his own, resounded in his ears, or was it his mind? _Hurry up. Your life will never make sense if you don't open the watch_. Taking a deep breath, he took it in his left and pressed the top, opening the contraption… As soon as the seal was broken, the essence of the younger Time Lord escaped, returning to where it belonged, but unlike the Doctor, Keenon had no need to scream, settling back in far slower. Where the Doctor had returned as a hurricane in a time of desperate need, Keenon slipped back as a gentle breeze in times of peace. Nonetheless, he was breathing heavily by the time it was over. "Took you long enough, Thete," he mock-glared, the green eyes sparkling with mirth. "And seriously. Do you have to use the least believable name in the English-speaking world as alias? I made a joke out of my own at least!"

If Keenon would have headbutted him, it wouldn't have left him half as dazed as this brilliant display of the negative version of the Lungbarrow motormouth: Breakneck-speed sarcasm. "I… Well, at least that way, people _don't_ remember me. Keenon."

The younger Time Lord laughed and opened his arms for a hug, which the Doctor returned fiercely. "Cousin… Oh Omega, it's good to see you, and good to be back."

"Same to you, Keenon, same to you," the Doctor whispered hoarsely, not letting go.

"Err, Thete… as much as I appreciate it, I still have to get Tegan back. And it would be nice not to need respiratory bypass."

"Oh, sorry," he said, letting go. "Wait, what do you mean, 'get Tegan back'?"

"Come on, Thete. You've seen that painting. How long do you think I have chased after Tegan, and how long do you think we've been bonded?" he snickered, walking over to what seemed to be a battered broom cupboard. "Come on. I think that calls for a place that's smaller on the outside."

"And bigger on the inside," the Doctor finished. "Broom cupboard?"

Keenon simply stepped inside. "I thought it more interesting to say it the other way round, as apparently _everyone_ says the bigger on the inside. And don't ask me. She's a Type 307 Mark II, from the House stockpile. And, as you can see…" The control room had the looks of being another studio, white, and the console was designed to be controlled by two people. "We get along pretty well. Hello old girl, did you miss me?" In answer, Keenon's TARDIS started powering up again, awakening from her slumber with a loving hum. "As for your question. I have been bonded for roughly 150 years now, regenerated 60 years ago, and yes, Tegan is a Time Lady now, which is a rather long story you should ask _janayitritarane_ about." He looked up. "Omega, it's good to _feel_ her again. I almost forgot what it feels like, to sense the Lady-Mother-of-the-clan."

"I know she can do that, I saw it happen with my own eyes. And I know what you mean. But why? Why did Tegan agree to do this? And how did you become a pair?"

"You heard the stories about me, no doubt. Well, I have to inform you they are true… I chased her around the Earth after you left her here," he chuckled, leading his cousin to the kitchen. Busying himself with brewing tea, he continued. "In hindsight, it was rather hilarious, especially when her car broke down in the outback, and I literally followed her; the usual exchange we had in these situations was '_Are you going to keep following me? – Are you going to keep ignoring me?_' or things like that. And she always refused coming aboard my TARDIS."

"Why do I have the feeling that you and her is like an overly long gag quote from a road movie?" the Doctor wondered, accepting the cup of Illawarra.

"Probably because it is. Only in the Qantas/TARDIS World edition," Keenon snickered before sobering up. "She'll be here soon."

"Does she remember travelling me?" the Doctor wondered, following the man back to the console room; after all, that part was still from Tegan's human days.

"The arch reduced her extraterrestrial memories to the day she walked out on you, so yes, but I doubt she'll recognise you until I get her back. Which reminds me…" Pushing a few panels on the console, a small box came up through the floor on a pedestal. The red-and-silver glow of the wood betrayed it – Gallifreyan redoak – and the seal on top was the Seal of Omega, the seal of House Lungbarrow. "Hello love," the artist smiled lovingly, picking it up, and revealed the contents to his cousin: A silver watch with blue engravings and two keys on chains. Putting one of the keys around his own neck, he pocketed the rest and put the box away. "Shall we?"

The Doctor shook himself as Keenon simply left the broom cupboard-disguised TARDIS, and followed him. "How can you be so casual about all that happened?" _Why don't you blame me?!_

Keenon stopped halfway to the studio door and turned around, sighing. "Probably the same reason you and _janayirane_ keep racing across the universe putting out fires. Keeping on going or to lie down and die, cousin. Not much of a choice, and frankly speaking, I prefer to count my blessings." He shook his head, shooing away his own regrets. "I am the 423rd Guardian of the Children of Lung Mountain, but that title has no meaning without children to watch and raise, cousin. I have _not_ forgotten them. But I prefer to remember them laughing instead of burning. And in the end… it could have been _anyone_ turning that key in the lock. Anyone willing to end it all."

"Do you not get it; I killed everyone–"

Keenon picked up a towel and walloped him over the head. "I said _anyone_. From what I know – and granted, Tegan and I spent the war out of the firing line, here on Earth – Romanadvoratrelundar would have done it herself if given the chance. And do you even have an inkling of what would have happened if _janayitritarane_ hadn't spent the last two years of the War chasing down a madman?"

"_No_," he gnawed out.

"She would have started a revolution."

"_What?! **What?! WHAT?!**_" He was aware that his mother was distilled Lungbarrow spirit, but breaking her vows? It seemed a little far-fetched (but then again, it was _janayi_…).

"Yep. Overthrow Rassilon, and then call the Antarians for help. But I am not quite sure if that would have been better," he mused. "Calling them is waking a sleeping giant, unleashing a hurricane. And finally… If you hadn't done that, we wouldn't be here discussing this, waiting for Tegan to return. What you would have instead are two funeral pyres too many, mine and hers. So no, I don't blame you. I simply do what Lady Lungbarrow does if it comes to you, sigh and lament your _fate_, but never blame you. You're my cousin, and you always do what you have to do. That's all I need to know. Are you coming?" Turning around again, he left the studio.

Stunned, the Doctor shuffled after the artist to the man's actual home, across the courtyard. _Have I really forgotten Keenon's kindness? Apparently_… "Do you have children?" he asked shakily.

"No. Our Human/Almatian selves – chose something long-lived but made them think they're humans – were infertile, and…" Keenon fell into his couch with a sad sigh. "Well, you wanted to know why Tegan became a Time Lady. Basically, it's because the racial markers in both of us make us incompatible on a personal level. We found that out the hard way." Seeing the shocked expression on the other man's face, he nodded. "Originally, we were just unified, happily so. But she miscarried. Several times. Lady Lungbarrow found out that it would only stop if we were the same race. Something went wrong though, and so, we were told we would have to wait 80 years for trying again, until then, Tegan would be infertile. But still, it allowed us to bond, properly. By the time the 80 years were over, we were fighting a war already. I can imagine she's upgraded the program by now though." The face Keenon wore had lost all its cheer, filled with a sadness the Doctor knew all too well. The bitterness of infinite loss.

Sitting down in front of him, the older man sighed. "She did. By now, it's more like a very rough regeneration. And I'm sorry."

"Thanks." Suddenly, he looked up. "She's here." A small smirk stole itself onto his lips as the door fell closed. "Wish me luck."

6

_I wonder what that absolute klutz is up to this time_, Tegan thought sarcastically as she entered the house. _Given that he didn't even bother with putting a sign on the gallery that he ain't there… I hope he's got a customer!_ "I'm home!" she called, dumping her sling bag on the side table.

She didn't come very far. Keegan wrapped a arm around her waist and pulled her into a deep kiss. At the same time, he kept his mind on the task… and opened the watch he held concealed in his hands, letting wisps of gold and silver escape. Wrapping themselves around Tegan, they whispered of infinite bravery, infinite fire burning with light and time. Of silver river beds and fruit plantations where the House of Redloom once had their home, and of wild, untamed Lung Mountain which had been home for more than a century. As the process and Keenon's kiss ceased, she became faintly aware of the silent tears running down her cheeks, and of her mate's long fingers stroking them away oh-so-gently. "_Keenon? Lairelai_?"

"Welcome back, _lairelai_," he whispered in Gallifreyan, smiling just as tearfully.

"I'd say took you long enough, but we did this to each other after all, so, who came around?" she wondered, following him to the living room.

"Hello Tegan," the Doctor smiled, getting up to greet his old companion. "I think we all have some catching up to do."

"Doctor?" Seeing him nod, and sensing him, in his position among Lungbarrow, she let go of Keenon's hand and grabbed him in a fierce hug. "Oh my god, it really is you… how many times did you change that daft old face of yours since the last time?"

"Well…" He grinned down at her. "Four. I think we all should sit down and have some tea, or what do you think?"

"Certainly."

6

'Catch-up' was an understatement for the conversation that followed; a tale that would send even the craziest Time Lord mind spinning it was. And laughing himself halfway to regeneration; Keenon's student Michael had been very on the spot with his assessment of the relationship between the "Jovankas", as the one in charge of everything was Tegan. But it was stunning, above all things. "…let me get this straight. You two are the end result of the longest road movie routine I've ever come across, Tegan's a child of the Virtuous and Noble House of Redloom by adoption, and you are basically deserters because you've seen it coming?" he rattled down.

"That's it in a nutshell, _miruelai_." Tegan shook her head. "I may not have grown up on Gallifrey, but I lived there for one-and-a-half centuries. And we saw it fall, together with the other Great Houses. The corruption and the arrogance eating away the ruling city-dwellers. When was the last time before the war you've stayed longer at home than four days?"

The Doctor started to feel a lump well up in his throat, _first janayi and now my cousin as well as Tegan becoming miruelai, cousin…this is just…just brilliant!_, he thought to himself, but soon noticed they were both looking at him. He cleared his throat and answered instead, "True enough. And during the war it wasn't much better. So you two didn't want to fight."

"No. And so we left everything behind. Not that there was much to be left behind, the young were all around 120 or so," Keenon shrugged. "When it became clear that the Professor wouldn't return in time to stop Rassilon and everything, we did what every Lungbarrow does in the face of such odds."

"Run?"

"_Run_," they both confirmed.

6

Dinner was a rather jovial affair, held in a strange but comforting mixture of Gallifreyan and English. The Doctor hadn't even realised how much he missed talking _in his own language_ until his mother had shown up, and the longer he remembered this, the more he wanted it. _Before_, English had been a convenient thing, and something he didn't even really think about, a way to express his rebellion against convention, but now, it was one of the few things left of home. "So what are you two going to do now?"

Keenon raised an eyebrow at him. "If you are implying that we should come with you, let me remind you that I am the most domestic of all of us."

"More like a painting, sculpting super-nanny with incredible housekeeping skills crossed with a master chef," Tegan remarked. "Luckily, you didn't overwrite that with the arch, otherwise we'd have starved long ago."

"And here I thought you bonded to me because of my brains."

"Oh, don't worry. I wouldn't be a proper Time Lady if I wouldn't find that big four-lobed thing between your ears sexy," she teased leeringly.

"I can think of a very stimulating list of mental activities, _lairelai_."

"Right now or later?"

"Oi! Too much information, cousins. Too much information," the Doctor grinned before addressing his former companion and in-law. "So you two are staying here?"

"For the time being. I have my activist groups – I work for Aboriginal rights – and Keenon has his classes. We know we can't stay too long, so we're going to enjoy it while it lasts," she confirmed. "Besides…"

Keenon caught on immediately. "We're overdue for trying to start a family you know, so, when you see _janayirane_ again, please send her our way."

"Will do." Pushing his plate away, he sighed. "Just one last thing Tegan. Why in the Nine Hells is your title-name _The Marana_?"

"I thought it a good pun," she shrugged, ignoring his incredulous stare. "No, really. I know why you are so apprehensive – the actual Mara screwed me over really good – but, surviving her made me stronger than I ever could believe to be. Besides, I _did_ help you defeat her, and as far as I know, that's what you always called me, so it fit."

He chuckled. "I stand corrected; it absolutely fits. 'Marána', brave heart, but also, 'Márana', 'Mara slayer'. No-one else would do."

"Only her," Keenon agreed. "So. Since I am going to do what I always have done, keeping the fire on while you lot are out, I take it you and your intended are going out again to save the universe?"

"Ye-p." Seeing their stares, he chuckled again. "Oh, you want to know when the Bonding is, right?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Tegan confirmed. "But as you said, our Lady is out there, saving our people, so I guess she's back exercising her rights as Head of House, including when you'll get bonded?"

"It's not that easy to get everything needed these days," he answered. "But it would be my greatest pleasure if you'd show up."

"It would be our _honour_, miruelai-rane," Keenon shook his head as they got up. "Come on, we'll see you off. Anyone left on the list?"

"You two were last… oh, I can't believe that woman. My own mother!"

"Feels like home, Thete, feels right like home."

* * *

February 14, 2009

The Doctor sat in line with the Jones family and his mother, watching the graduates of the Imperial College receive their diploma, in the Royal Albert Hall no less. _I am so glad you didn't decide to wear the ceremonial jacket_.

The Professor sent him the mental equivalent of making a face; she wore the dark blue version of her Valeyard jacket as the ceremonial uniform (silver white) would have stuck out like a sore thumb. _I know the value of good camouflage, thank you, Theta. And hush ye now, it's her turn._

"Doctor Martha Jones," the Dean called. "Summa cum laude." Giving her a rare smile, the man handed her the diploma and shook her hand.

Martha received the paper and the praise with a blush and a bow, and, as she turned to the crowd, she couldn't contain herself any longer: She waved at them, smiling broadly.

As reward, the two Lungbarrow offered her a set of face-splitting grins. _I am so proud of you, dearest_, the Doctor sent her. _We both are. Proud doesn't even cover it. There are no words for that._

_How about you show me? Later?_ Martha sent back as she left the stage, with a little leer. _I still have to show you off to the class._

_Why?_

_Do you have any idea how many of my class were drooling about John Smith DSc, Internal ward, Theta? You're wandering trouble to both men and women! And of all of them, Martha no-social-life Jones gets him!_

_Oh really? Well, we don't want to disappoint, Doctor Jones, do we._

_Indeed we don't, Doctor Smith_, she smiled as he pulled her into a bear hug.

6

Suffice to say that Martha had a blast at the graduation ball, especially since she was one of the few actually with a long-term partner in tow – and the only one who was actually engaged to said partner. And for the first time in a while, the Doctor enjoyed himself without restraints or regrets, including a ton of jealous stares both of them got. (Their answer was the same as in 1969 against the racists – a good public snog. If anything, the whole day proved Martha right – it wasn't the black tie ensemble that spelt trouble, just the wearer's tendency to deliberately walk into it.)

Words were the power of Lungbarrow – talk till insane. But this night, he showed her just how proud he was without a single word beyond her name.

* * *

February 16, 2009

Martha packed the last of her clothes into a suitcase, closed it and slung her backpack over her shoulder, carrying that last luggage downstairs and grateful for her non-human strength. But, she had to concede, with her own flat mostly blown to smithereens, there wasn't much left of her belongings (one of the things she had had to buy after _that year_ was a new laptop), the photographs replaced with copies the Professor had managed to steal from time, much to the dismay of the Doctor. Still, it was surprising to see her own life being able to fit into two suitcases, a sports bag and two boxes, especially since the two other Chronarchs lived in surroundings more close in size to something in between university campus and small neighbourhood – the Professor's TARDIS sported no less than four university-grade libraries, three tennis courts and a fully equipped 18-hole golf course with Gallifreyan redgrass, while the Doctor had two libraries of the same size and grade as well as seven squash courts, a karaoke bar and a scullery; both TARDISes currently featured two indoor swimming pools, a modernized Roman thermae, four gardens and a cinema. And every bedroom onboard was actually a full suite, consisting of study, bedroom, walk-in wardrobe and a luxury bathroom. _I still wonder why they need all that space_, she snickered as he turned up to pull everything into his TARDIS.

"Is that everything?" The Doctor was the picture of itchy feet as he closed the doors behind them.

"Yep. And not like we won't come back." Having said goodbye yesterday evening, the house was empty.

"Nope. But now, we'll have to wait until…" Just then, a few lights on the console went on. "Well, now. She scooped us up."

"So where are we going?" she asked as they left the Type 40, ending in the hangar of the Professor's.

"_Get on the transduct and I'll show you. It's time you get to have your Viewing_," their pilot's voice reverberated through the intercom. Doing just that, they found themselves in the console room. "Hey you two."

"Why didn't you just land around us, _janayi_?"

"Sorry. Habit. And we're going to Schisma-Thera, Walker," the ancient woman shrugged, pulling the handbrake. "You seem to have a question though."

The take-off was smooth, but then again, it was the Professor's one-pilot TARDIS. "Why in the Nine Hells are your two TARDISes so ridiculously gigantic in living space?"

"Have you ever tried to fit the egos of six Time Lord pilots simultaneously into one building? No? Just for reference, Theta is, by Time Lord standards, rather modest. To do that comfortably, you need enough space for a small neighbourhood, and in my case, a lot of it is lab space, holding cells etcetera."

The young couple shot each other a look that said everything.

6

Schisma Thera was a world in *relative* viewing distance from the Great Rift, and thus featured one of the 21 (semi-) natural schisms of the Antarian Empire. Its climate and flora reminded Martha strongly of Earth, even considering the plants came in various shades of purple. As they left the TARDIS, it was evening, just after sunset. "This place is gorgeous."

"Glad you like it. I admit, when I came here at the age of eight, I was too terrified to appreciate it," the older woman smiled, leading them to a complex of hedges and pillars.

"Wait, wait, wait. This is where you had your viewing, _janayitrita_?" the Doctor stuttered.

"Hole-in-one, _taruelai_. Look up, and you might see something familiar," she grinned mysteriously.

"What is…it…" His eyes went wide, the jaw hanging slack. "_Kasterborous_," he whispered. Indeed, above them, the seven star (eight if you considered that Kasterborianii was binary) constellation shone in the high heavens, just off Sagittarius encircling the core of Mutter's Spiral, or, as Antarians called it, Ossiligath.

"We are in viewing distance of the galactic centre, and thus, both Sagittarius and Gallifrey. Before that stupid dispute, this is where our initiates would come to see eternity, while the lords of this world would see infinity," the Professor explained calmly. "One of the most important institutions of this world is a Prophet Academy, where until 14.000 years ago, ideas and interpretations would be exchanged. Come now. We're expected."

Indeed, as they reached the core of the "labyrinth", with the circular containment ring holding the schism, several Antarians looked up or turned around, the only exception being a Cherubim staring into the schism, sitting cross-legged before it with the blue-tinted wings spread out. "_It has been fourteen millennia since I welcomed a Child of the world that walks in the shadows, now sleeping between the dimensions. To have three to come here_…" She vanished her wings and got up with the elegance of flowing water. Her style of dress betrayed her as the Dean of the Prophet Academy – a master Visionary. "_I have waited a long time for this, Time-Weavers_," she finished, still speaking New High Gallifreyan. "_And it has been a while since I saw you, Milady. But this is not the time for words_." She gestured at Martha. "De-ra'iya, strong one. I am Skasiel, Mistress of the Schisma Thera Prophet Academy. I have been waiting for you for a long time."

"How?"

"It's what she does. She's a prophet, an Antarian Visionary. She looks at things and into the schism and sees the reality of everything. Every reality. Past, present, future," the Doctor explained, gently pushing her forward until the young woman stood in front of Skasiel.

"And what do you see when you look at me?" Martha wondered.

"Many things, but most of them magnificent." Skasiel answered in flawless English, the aqua eyes shimmering like pools. "I see the Time Lady to be I have in front of me, but I also see a human _seras_ healer who walked out on him. And who would come back over and over again. Come now. Eternity is waiting."

Martha gulped slightly. While she knew that all these Antarians were here to protect her from going insane like the Master had done, there was a lingering fear of what she would be going to see. _Eternity_. All that is, was, will be, could be, must not. It was too easy to understand why some ran and others lost their minds. At the same time, she could hear it: The irresistible siren call of the schism, promising completion. _No turning back now_. Taking one slow step after the other, she passed the long row of Antarians – mind-healers and visionaries – and _looked_.

_To see the worlds in a grain of sand, and all heavens in a wild flower, hold Infinity in the palm of your hand, and Eternity in an hour_, Skasiel whispered.

And Time saw her, called, pleaded, demanded her, her help, her strength, everything she was. _Heart of the Storm, Healer to the Learned Man_, she called her.

Martha had not even realized she had run when she came face to face with a 6m high purple labyrinth hedge wall, the chest heaving with the effort. _This is… is that what they see? What they hear? It's so much… so big_. Shaken, she sat down on the bench marking the dead end. She had thought before it different – and dizzyingly difficult at first – to feel the passing of Time, but now… to see how the Antarians had managed to make this world long-lived and frankly, a paradise (Iyan, perfect world, they called it), seeing its _Time_. "This is too much," she whispered, closing her eyes to limit the number of timelines she could sense.

"Martha," a voice called out, soft but powerful at the same time, cutting through the haze. "_Lairelai, it's I_." The voice was her lifeline. As she looked up, the Doctor stood over her, his hand held out for her and his smile shining even though the only light was a water-element torch. "I'm here for you."

"I… I saw all of it… everything," She started, trying to focus on the here and now like in her lessons. "This is what you went through, isn't it? You saw all of Time and you ran. You, and your entire House."

"Keenon didn't run, he got a high on colours instead. Neither did my brother or Quences. Strangely enough, those who don't run in the House of Lungbarrow are somewhat of an underachiever, rarely leaving the planet. Brilliant, but creatures of comfort," the Doctor mused, sitting down beside her. "My mother ran. And it took the abilities of the Mistress of the Academy to find her. And that after she'd stood for hours before the schism."

Leaning into him, she shuddered. "Why did she freeze?"

"No-one really knows, she never says. Officially, it's because she had her Ears of Chronos already active, and her eyes needed to catch up, synchronize. Personally, I think she saw something about herself on top of that," he sighed before pressing a kiss to her temple.

She smiled at him. "So you're surprised that I _ran_ as well?"

He shook his head. "Martha, no, _Walker_, from the very moment I met you I knew you were special. When janayitrita started planning your viewing… there is a reason I decided to wear my good running shoes today." He smiled. "I can hardly run all the time with janayi – not even I would be able to keep up with the speed and scale of a full Wraith of Gallifrey, not to mention it's rather childish, hanging on her coattails. But you, you're meant to run with me, and I with you. Before, you would wade in Time. Now, you've been thrown in and learnt to swim. And soon, you'll learn to dive, when the Ears will come active. Just like us."

They stared into each others eyes for a moment but felt like ages to them. They both started moving closer and closer till their lips finally met in a soft but loving kiss. The Doctor was the first to pull back but the moment there was a separation Martha pulled him back in, her tongue begging entrance, which the Doctor allowed gladly. Letting their tongues meet and perform their own dance, Martha gave out a moan as this happened and ran her hands through the Doctor's soft hair. He, in turn, groaned into her mouth, letting his hands wander all over her back. As finally both their respiratory bypass kicked in, they ended the kiss, leaning their foreheads together. Numbly, the Time Lady noticed she somehow had managed to end up in his lap. That's when she heard it. "Is someone singing?" she asked, confused.

He tilted his head and listened for a moment. "Oh that's the Visionaries. Hold on…" he concentrated, and then grinned. "Oh dear. It's _Auguries of Innocence_."

"Blake?" She lifted an eyebrow at him.

"Who do you think Blake was listening to when he wrote that?" He shook his head, chuckling. "I never had a confirmation until now, but I think Blake had the then-Watcher as a friend. It's the same poem – in High Antarian, as a song."

The Walker leant back, listening to the literally celestial chorus. "Your mother is right. There aren't any better singers anywhere or anywhen."

"I've never found better. Makes one glad _janayi_ has a duet of them at hand for our bonding day." The Doctor answered as he kissed the side of her head. Martha then stood up. "Something wrong?"

She shook her head. "We should get back. I know now that this place is a maze for a reason – so the runners don't get far – but I have no idea how I got here. And your mother wanted to give us something before seeing us off."

"True enough." Leading her back to the centre of the maze, he prepared to say his goodbyes to Skasiel. "Mistress. We thank for your hospitality."

"No thanks is needed when needs must," the Cherubim declined. "I wouldn't like to ruin your Viewing with a prophecy, Walker, but they are best heard, not read."

"What is it?" Martha wondered.

"_The old enemy lurks in the dark, stealing what is other ones' rights. But be steadfast in your beliefs, and passion's fire will consume them. Fire will try all of you, shake all your beliefs before a rebirth can take place, and fill the house with laughing chatter again_," she intoned. "_The seed will be planted soon, and grow into the mightiest of trees_."

"Sounds about right," the Professor answered, having recorded the words. Her face was pensive. "Lady Kaletiel said something like that, centuries ago."

"I call it as I _see_ it, Professor. And for you, Children of Gallifrey…" The Antarians surprised them by honouring them – they spread their wings. "_May all the stars be bright on you… and all skies be friends to thee forever_," they called.

Overwhelmed, the three bowed and left.

6

Much to his surprise, The Professor had used their absence to move his TARDIS out of the hangar. "So. Back to work," she smiled.

"And back to running," Martha quipped.

"I take it you'll drop us a message when you have all the stuff needed for our Bonding?" the Doctor asked tentatively.

"Count on it. Or when I need some backup." Rummaging through her (bigger-on-the-inside) pockets, she pulled out three objects. "Here you go."

"That's…" the Doctor frowned slightly as they took two exact copies of his mother's watch-disguised wrist computer. "No way."

"Yes way. Chronos Controller/Stattenheim remote control combo. Considering you always end up separated from your TARDIS, that's way overdue for both of you," she glared.

The younger pair laughed. "True enough," the Doctor conceded.

"And I know you don't have one anymore, so I thought it high time to replace it," she continued, handing him the last object: A hypercube.

"I don't think I'll need that."

"You of all people shouldn't say that," she smiled crookedly before pulling them into a hug. "May Time's hands rest kind on you, _laiah taruelai_."

"And history remember you with love, _janayitrita_," the Doctor smiled as he stepped back, leading Martha to their own TARDIS.

Remembering the parting between the 5th and the 10th Doctor, Martha smiled her own farewell. "To days to come, Professor."

Turning around in the door to her TARDIS, the ageless woman grinned foxily over her shoulder. "Long beyond the stars going out, Walker, Doctor." Door closing, the Professor and her TARDIS vanished, a slight breeze the only proof of her departure.

Smiling fondly, the Doctor closed the doors behind himself and took the captain's chair, while the Walker stood at the co-pilot's position. "Right then. _Molto bene_."

"What now?"

"Same as ever, don't you think, _lairelai_?" he teased.

"You mean, off to see starfire, end up in trouble, keep out signs are for others, get thrown into jail, do troubleshooting and run like hell?" she mused, then grinned. "I can't wait!"

Setting the coordinates for Meta Sigmafolio, he mirrored her grin maniacally. "In that case… Watch out universe, here come the Time Lords. _Allons-y_!"

* * *

**AN: That's all, folks! Part I of this series. Please review, they make me write!**


End file.
